


Perfect

by Lydia_Eve



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2019-07-20 14:47:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16139462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lydia_Eve/pseuds/Lydia_Eve
Summary: Draco tries to avoid drawing attention to the Malfoy family after the war, but he realizes he's always wanted just that one person's attention.





	1. Chapter One

_October, 2020_

Even though the boys were in danger, and Draco could hardly think with terror at the thought of losing Scorpius, the realization that he and Harry Potter had somehow become friends still hit him with the weight of all their school years. Part of him had always wanted this. The decision to trust Harry with the time-turner secret was easy.

And the boys were clever enough – so blessedly clever – to send them the message through time. Draco had been a panicked mess, even with Harry and the Minister for Magic herself going back with him. The desire to save Scorpius was so overwhelming, that he almost didn’t notice.

But after Draco had draped the chain of the time turner around everyone’s shoulders, he turned to Harry next, and the most curious thought came to him.

At the time he put it down to stress and terror at Scorpius’s trip through time, but after – after the horror of Godric’s Hollow, watching Harry’s parents be murdered, seeing the Potter family grieving together, reuniting with Scorpius and being so thankful he could barely breathe – after that, the thought remained.

As he slipped the gold chain of the time-turner around Harry’s neck and looked into those familiar green eyes, even though it was impossible, even though they’d only just become friends, Draco thought: _I’ve done this before._

_April, 1999_  
  
The self-declared nobility of the wizarding world were not used to reclusion, but the Malfoys hid nonetheless. Up in their manor on the moors. The black stone building had become their prison since the Battle of Hogwarts, and would become their tomb if Draco didn’t save them. Or so Narcissa argued.

“That’s a little dramatic, Mother,” said Draco, but then, given their family on both sides, Narcissa was probably holding herself back.

Lucius stood next to his wife in the doorway of the library and regarded his son thoughtfully, but said nothing. Draco’s eyes still slid to his, Draco still almost deferred to his father whenever conflict arose, but he was getting better at noticing when he did it, at least.

“Why don’t you go?” Draco suggested to his mother. The book in front of him still had his attention, and given all the books he’d glazed his way through in the long winter and unrelenting rain of spring, he thought he shouldn’t pass up the opportunity for mild entertainment. The memorial his mother wanted him to go to promised only awkwardness at best. He didn’t want to think of the worst case scenario.

“Harry Potter mentioned you by name at the Battle of Hogwarts right before he defeated the Dark Lord,” Narcissa reasoned. “We have no reason to think I would be more welcome than you there.”

Draco stayed silent. The one year anniversary of the Battle was something the wizarding world might want to immortalize, but Draco just wanted everyone to forget about it so they could start living their lives without the stares and the comments and the open threats that one time Narcissa had to go to St. Mungo’s. They weren’t legally confined to the house. Aurors had come by a week after the Battle to destroy Lucius’s wand, but that was their only official punishment.

Lucius cleared his throat, but his voice rasped anyway when he spoke. “Draco. You’re also the one who deserves to go. You’re almost nineteen. You should be–”

Draco glared at the book in front of him until his father stopped what was one of their longer conversations recently.

“Please,” said Narcissa, a little desperation creeping into her voice. Draco didn’t know if her emotion was real or theatrics. It had saved them all once, but Narcissa was just as cunning as her husband used to be.

Draco looked at his parents. Neither seemed to have aged much in the last few years, unlike the rest of the wizarding world, which was more weird Malfoy luck, helping when it hardly mattered and never coming through when it did. His parents still stood proud and regal, and for what? What games did they have left to play? Everyone hated them, and Draco was tired.

“Fine,” he said.

 

The crowd was near-unbearable. The sun shone brightly in the busy park, but that was the only thing Draco liked seeing. The few Slytherins in attendance avoided him like dragon pox. Millicent Bullstrode was there with the Greengrass sisters, but Draco couldn’t bring himself to face rejection from people in his year. The fifth years who scurried away at the sight of him were bad enough. Draco clutched his drink and stood near the side as Arthur Weasley took the stage.

“Witches and wizards and squibs and goblins and elves and friends,” he began. Draco would’ve bet there wasn’t a single goblin in attendance. “Today marks an important day in our history, the day of Vol – no, I can say it – Voldemort’s defeat.”

There was a deafening cheer from the crowd. People literally stomped their feet as they screamed. Draco’s clapping seemed woefully inadequate, but no one noticed. The cheer rose in waves as people realized the cheer wasn’t dying out, and fed off each other’s fury. For that’s what it was. Draco realized the witches and wizards around him had become the characters from the fairytales, the witches who screamed their rage across the skies, and the wizards who shaped the world in fire before it had a chance to cool. No longer were the people around him kids he had gone to school with, parents who had hid strangers in their attics during a war, these were legends who stood around him, and for a moment, Draco felt it too.

Harry Potter stood near the other side of the stage, surrounded by his friends and allies, shining with angry triumph as the cheer reached the heavens. He wasn’t screaming with the others, but a grin pulled at his mouth. Maybe remembering your famous murder didn’t make a person happy, but he did look damn satisfied.

Arthur Weasley smiled into the crowd, nodding at friends he saw in the audience. He seemed startled to see Draco there, but he didn’t let that affect his demeanor as the screams began to quiet.

“While that day marks our world’s biggest triumph,” Weasley continued into the enchanted microphone, “it also marks a great sorrow. I lost my son that day. Fred.”

At the name, the crowd began to applaud again. The sound again reached unbelievable proportions. Arthur Weasley burst into tears, and his wife and one of the twins – not Fred, Draco presumed – joined him on stage.

The new Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, came out to thank the Weasleys, and took the microphone.

“On this occasion,” he began in his smooth, booming voice, “we pay tribute to our heroes. Those who risked their lives and helped bring an end to the war. First, let us recognize Harry Potter!”

Draco followed Potter’s walk across the stage, clapping politely and having a strange feeling like Gryffindor just won the house cup. From the grimace Potter wore, he must have been feeling something similar. Though maybe it was just because, and Draco had taken a while to really learn this, that Potter didn’t like all the attention.

The usual names were called after, each having some important medal pinned to their robes or looped around their head. Granger, all the Weasleys, Longbottom, Lovegood, Flitwick, Narcissa Malfoy–

Draco froze. He was a wizard, and could vanish on the spot, but no one liked seeing those of questionable loyalties do magic much these days, and besides, everyone around him was already looking.

“Is she not here today?” Shacklebolt asked. “Her owl said she would be. Is anyone here to accept on her behalf?”

_Oh, Mother made the house of Slytherin very proud._ Draco closed his eyes, but he still heard someone run to the stage and murmur to Shacklebolt that Draco Malfoy was in the audience.

“Draco Malfoy,” repeated Shacklebolt. “Yes, is Draco Malfoy here to accept on her behalf? Come on up, young man.”

It wasn’t the first time Draco had wished for an instant death, and Merlin knew it probably wouldn’t be the last. He forced his legs to begin climbing the stage, held his body tight, screamed inside his head, the usual. He shook hands with Shacklebolt as the huge man placed some medallion in his hand and Draco was ushered to stand with the other honourees. He found himself next to Fleur Delacour, right behind Potter and Ron Weasley, who both turned to look at him. Draco didn’t dare say a word to the heroes on their stage, but Potter nodded, and Weasley said “Hey,” but with a look that suggested he’d found more appealing things than Draco on the bottom of his shoe.

“Hey,” Draco replied as Weasley turned his attention back to the proceedings.

The nightmare of the stage continued as Yasir Masood, the Prophet’s new reporter, insisted on picture after picture. As soon as it was over, Draco all but leaped from the stage, and tried to leave. Even as he had the thought, he knew he should stay. Mingle. Help the Malfoys regain the ability to leave their house and return to society. Maybe Father didn’t need to, but Mother deserved to go out again. And Draco. Draco wanted to too.

He wasn’t stupid enough to try to talk with Shacklebolt. He was too surrounded, and besides, it seemed like something Lucius Malfoy would try to do. But Draco did say hello to Professor McGonagall, and they had a brief talk about the NEWTs exams that Draco wrote from home, receiving decidedly average scores. Even Yasir from the Prophet wanted to talk to him.

“But you were there too,” said Yasir, a Ravenclaw from the year above his. Harry Potter said your wand helped win the Battle. We all heard it. Can you tell us more about that?”

“No,” said Draco, though he didn’t want to upset one of the few people that met his eyes. “It wasn’t even my wand. It was Du– I didn’t do much that day–” _aside from let my friend die, almost lose my family–_ “Potter’s probably the one you want to talk to.”

Yasir smiled warmly. “Oh yeah? Do you think you could point me to this Potter guy?”

Draco breathed a laugh and smiled back.

“Death Eater scum!” was the only warning Draco got. A fist connected with the side of his face, and he stumbled back, whirling with his wand at the ready, knowing he couldn’t use it in this crowd.

A furious teenager – Dennis Creevey, he remembered – stood in front of him. A circle quickly grew around them.

“My brother died, but you get to stand up there with _them_?” Creevey snarled. “I can’t believe a Malfoy would show their face today.”

Draco weighed his odds of physically defending himself against the kid, and thought they were pretty good. He wouldn’t say a word against the verbal attack; Creevey was right.

“You have nothing to say for yourself?” Creevey demanded.

Neville Longbottom, war hero, cut through the crowd and lay a hand on Creevey’s shoulder. “Not today, Dennis,” he said.

The rest of Team Good had joined Neville in the circle of onlookers. They all looked at Creevey with concern. Draco might as well have been invisible.

“He didn’t kill Colin,” Potter said in a low voice.

“But he – he shouldn’t _be_ here,” Creevey said, in tears now.

“Don’t worry about him,” said Longbottom, who still hadn’t looked Draco’s way. “You’re worth twelve of him.”

It was Draco’s cue to leave. He lowered his wand and quietly pocketed it. Not a soul missed Draco Malfoy when he left.

 

The walk back to the road provided some of the solitude Draco had been hoping for all day. Despite the sun, it was still a chilly day in May, but he took off his cloak anyway as he approached the anti-Muggle wards surrounding the park for that day. He could walk a few streets over and catch a taxi, ask the driver to drop him off in some field, and apparate home. Give his mother the god damn medal and disappear back into his book for the rest of his life.

“Malfoy, wait.”

Draco would know Potter’s voice anywhere, but Draco was still surprised when he turned around and Potter was still there, looking at him like Draco should maybe respond.

“Hey, Potter,” he tried, his voice catching a little embarrassingly, but wasn’t that just typical of every interaction with Harry Potter.

“Are you heading home now?” When Draco nodded, he added, “Is your mother there?”

“Where else would she go?” Draco asked.

Potter’s expression darkened. “It’s not my fault your family isn’t well-loved today,” he said.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know. What do you want?”

“Can I give you a ride home?” Potter asked without seeming to think that was an unreasonable thing to say. “I’d like to thank your mother today.”

“Er, of course not?” said Draco. “Imagine how much more people will like my family if we were responsible for you having to leave today.”

“But I want to leave anyway,” Potter said.

“Well you can’t leave with me!” Draco said, his voice hitting a high note.

Potter frowned, and Draco was beginning to panic. Surely they’d notice that Harry Potter wasn’t at the epicenter of all the fun soon. Creevey’s right hook wasn’t the worst he’d experienced, but the side of his face still felt hot, and soon it would start to swell.

“What if–” Draco began.

“What if I went back to the party, and everyone saw you leave, then I met you in the Muggle pub on Oakwood Road in twenty minutes?” Potter suggested.

“Fine,” said Draco.

For all his arguing, Potter looked startled that Draco had agreed. But he nodded at Draco and turned back to the celebrations.

Thirty-five minutes later, Draco was three drinks in, and having a decent time talking with the bartender. The Muggle woman had no idea who he was, and he had no knowledge about the sport on the television, so she was explaining it to him, laughing at his confusion.

“I know what a ball is!” Draco protested as she explained for the second time.

The bartender laughed. “I didn’t know that, you didn’t know what a goal post was,” she argued.

“I’m not used to seeing them so…” he gestured. “Square.”

She laughed again. “You’re fantastic,” she said.

“He’s all right,” said Potter, appearing at his elbow, his cloak gone, replaced with dark denim jeans and a black t-shirt.

“Oh, what do you know, Potter,” Draco snapped out of long habit.

“Are you drunk?” Potter asked.

Draco didn’t drink a lot these days for fear of becoming the recluse who lives alone with his alcohol, so three drinks was enough to get him just a little tipsy. “Maybe,” he said.

“I was going to cut him off if he didn’t know what a red card was,” said the bartender.

Draco froze, and Potter looked a little distant, like he must have read about red cards once.

“You’re kidding,” said the bartender, looking from Draco to Potter in disbelief.

Draco stood and dropped some Muggle notes on the bar. “I’m leaving anyway,” he said.

“That’s quite a tip,” she said. “Next thing you’re going to tell me you don’t know about human money.”

“Er…”

Potter nudged him, and Draco smiled at the bartender. “Thanks for the chat,” he said, and followed Potter outside to Potter’s car.

The car made a chirping sound as Potter pressed a button attached to his keys. Draco tried not to seem too interested, but his education in Muggle studies was woefully lacking thanks to Professor Carrow and her Muggles-are-the-root-of-all-evil-and-their-car-key-fobs-especially teachings.

It was nicer than the few taxis Draco had tried, and smelled less like vomit and more like, well, Hogwarts. His throat threatened to close up as the memories of school flooded his mind. Potter started the engine, Draco pushed his seat belt into place, and his memories to back where they belonged.

Malfoy Manor was a solid hour by Muggle taxi, but Potter’s car was enchanted, and invisible to Muggles and their radar. Potter’s brief explanation of his car was their only conversation, and it was a relief when they arrived at the manor’s gates twenty-eight excruciating minutes later.

Draco pushed open the front door, pretending not to see Potter’s hesitation at the threshold. This couldn’t be fun for Potter to come back here, Draco realized, but luckily for Potter, none of the Malfoys wanted to be reminded of the war, and the entire house had been redone since Potter’s last visit. When Draco led Potter into the renovated drawing room, he sensed Potter’s relief.

He offered Potter a drink, then went to Narcissa’s half of the second floor to find her. Lucius stayed in the other half as of late.

“Mother?” Draco called. “Harry Potter is here to see you.”

“Is he?” she said, sounding delighted from the other room. “Did you offer him a drink?”

“Yes, but he’s here to see you,” Draco pressed.

“Well, I’m just in the bath,” came her voice. “Let me get ready and I’ll be down shortly.”

“Please do,” Draco said.

When he returned to the drawing room, Potter clearly hadn’t touched his drink, hadn’t even sat down. He stood near one of the windows with his arms crossed tightly in front of him.

Draco cleared his throat, and Potter started, making Draco feel instantly guilty about his whole damn family, crazy aunt included.

“If you’re not going to drink it, do you mind?” Draco said, crossing the room to the long sofa, and sitting down with Potter’s drink before Potter could answer.

“You’re a lousy host,” Potter said, coming to join him. He settled into the chair next to Draco and watched Draco down his wine in one go.

Draco gave him a look. Potter looked like he might laugh. He still held himself a little tensely, but the presence of an unhappy drunk seemed to calm him a little.

“Well you’re a terrible guest,” said Draco, though he didn’t have an argument to really support his claim. Potter had even sat after him, the jerk.

“Mother is coming soon,” Draco said, and hesitated. “Do – you mind if I…?” He gestured to his wand.

Potter’s eyes betrayed nothing, but they did change. “Go ahead,” he said evenly.

Draco waved his wand and brought some ice from the kitchens. He held it to his swelling face, hunching forward with his elbows on his knees. He’d just asked permission to do magic inside his own house.

After a moment, Potter said, “The last time I was here, my face swelled like yours.”

Draco stilled.

“But you didn’t say anything when they asked you,” Potter said.

Draco nodded. He’d already told Potter this, so they didn’t need to get into it again, but he remembered. Being led over to Potter. Potter, who was always so recognizable. Draco was furious with himself for memorizing him so well, for not having a second of doubt who it was before him that day. He’d knelt in front of Potter, buying time, and panicking. “ _I can’t be sure_ ,” he’d said. Weasley and Granger were as visible as ever, but if he could just avoid looking at them. He didn’t want them to die. That’s all.

“I didn’t do much to help you,” said Draco. “I didn’t help anyone in the damn war.”

“No,” Potter agreed. “Wait, are you–”

He’d seen the tear roll down Draco’s face, the one Draco had been too slow to get.

Draco let out a harsh laugh. “What about the last time you saw me crying, Potter?” Draco asked, vague memories of being ripped open in the boys’ toilets. He laughed again a little hysterically.

Potter seemed at a loss. “Yeah,” he said eventually.

“What other fun stories do we have to share?” Draco asked him. “We seem to have so many. What about when I tried to scare you at Quidditch, or that Hippogriff ripped my arm open, or when – what are you doing?”

Potter had knelt in front of him on the floor, almost between his knees, knelt like Draco had that day. Draco’s eyes widened as Potter ducked his head and brought their faces close together. Draco didn’t dare move, but his mind had suddenly exploded in a thousand different directions.

When Potter slid his fingers up Draco’s forearm, Draco let him. His mind had gone astoundingly blank. Potter leaned forward and Draco’s hand came up to … to what. His hand pressed against Potter’s chest, but he didn’t push him away. But surely–

“Do you love me?” Potter breathed.

“What?” Draco whispered, eyes on Potter’s mouth, and trying to wrap his mind around this insane situation. “No, of course not.”

“Then kiss me,” Potter said.

Draco did. He tossed the ice to the floor and brought his mouth down to Potter’s because it was certainly better than crying. Potter’s eyes closed behind his glasses, his dark lashes filling Draco’s vision. Potter leaned into Draco a little, his hands sliding slowly up Draco’s back, causing all kinds of reactions in Draco’s mind. Potter’s mouth, Potter’s hands, Potter, Potter.

They pulled back and looked at each other. Draco stared at Potter like he’d lost his mind, but Potter’s eyes kept flicking maddeningly back to Draco’s lips.

“Are you all right?” Draco asked, putting a hesitant touch on Potter’s shoulder.

“Are you?” Potter returned.

Draco reached around to the back of Potter’s neck and pulled him forward again, this time with more intent. Potter followed him back along the couch, and deepened their kiss, his tongue sliding slowly over Draco’s like he could do this all day. Draco’s hands found themselves on Potter’s body, pushing and pulling and clutching closer. Potter’s t-shirt was a crumpled mess as Draco tried to get closer, and–

“Draco, are you back?”

They sprang apart at Lucius Malfoy’s voice in the hall outside the room. Potter was back on the other chair as Draco looked up at his father.

Lucius stood frozen in the doorway. “Harry Potter,” he said.

Potter stood, wary.

Lucius gave one of his hollow smiles that he’d only started using since the war. Before that it was all charm, and when it wasn’t, ice and hauteur. A king among peasants. Now he looked like he might turn and flee from his own castle.

“As always, you are welcome here,” Lucius said eventually.

Potter said nothing. Draco still hadn’t recovered. If Narcissa hadn’t showed up when she did, they might have never moved, Draco trapped forever in a horrible state of bewildered arousal.

But she did.

“Harry,” said Narcissa, as though they were good friends. She swept past her husband without a glance. She smiled warmly at Potter and shook his hand.

“I wanted to thank you, Mrs Malfoy,” said Potter, clearing his throat.

“Narcissa.”

“Narcissa,” said Potter. He glanced at Draco, who stared stupidly for a moment before he remembered the medallion, and he handed it to Potter who stood tall and purposeful. Once more Potter had turned into the world’s savior, the boy who lived. “On behalf of the wizarding world,” Potter said, “and… myself. Thank you.”

Narcissa’s perfect smile faltered a moment, turned real and crooked for just a second. “I didn’t do it for the world,” she said softly, “I didn’t even do it for you.”

“I know,” said Potter, their hands still clasped. “But you did. And it helped. And – here.” He handed her the award.

Narcissa glanced at as though in confusion, though she couldn’t have been confused since clearly she’d been notified about this days in advance. “I didn’t know they gave awards for doing whatever it took to save your child,” she said with a strange laugh, then brought her eyes back up to Potter. “If what I’ve heard is true,” she said slowly, “your mother got the only reward she wanted, too. Trust me.”

Potter’s lips parted as the weight of what she said struck him. He’d probably never thought he’d have this conversation with someone he barely knew, but he seemed to like what he’d heard, because he lifted their joined hands, and kissed Narcissa’s.

Narcissa’s strange smile shone back at Potter, until she remembered her usual one, and put that smile back on instead.

“You must stay for dinner,” she said, all business once more.

Potter glanced at Draco, who refused to react, and shook his head. “I can’t,” he said. “But thank you.”

“Another time, then,” Narcissa insisted, bending the world to suit her.

Potter said something polite and noncommittal. Draco walked behind them as his mother and Potter exchanged pleasantries like Potter hadn’t had his tongue inside Draco just minutes ago.

They reached the door and Narcissa shook hands with Potter once again. “A pleasure, Harry,” she said.

Potter turned to Draco next. Lucius had long since disappeared, so there was no reason for Potter not to acknowledge everyone as he left. “Malfoy,” said Potter, holding out his hand.

Draco took it, staring like this was in any way how normal people interacted. “Please, call me Draco,” he dared.

“Draco,” said Potter, low.

That was a mistake. Draco’s heart near stopped at his name in Potter’s mouth, but his mother was there, and besides, Potter had already turned and left. Narcissa smiled at Draco as she turned away, leaving Draco alone to close the front door. It shut with an echo in the large hall. Draco peered out a small window next to the door. Potter grew smaller in the distance. The lights of his car flashed as he unlocked it.

After the car was gone, after the rain had started to fall, Draco pushed himself away from the window, his head sore from leaning against the cold glass for so long.

His father stood behind him.

“What?” Draco demanded. “What do you want?”

Lucius shook his head. “Nothing,” he said.

“Liar,” Draco snarled. “Everyone wants something.”


	2. Chapter Two

_Do you love me?_

Draco could only conclude this was a question Potter had asked more than one person before. Maybe the Daily Prophet had piled up in the library for months, but Draco thought their family were making strides to reintegrate themselves into the world, so he might as well get caught up, and why not start with Harry Potter, it only made sense, and since he never talked to anyone, no one could tell him what he already knew, that he was combing the paper for celebrity gossip.

Whatever. He’d learned all about the shining hero: fast cars and nightclubs and never the same girl for more than a month. (Draco noticed that Ginny Weasley’s similar string of lovers while she played Quidditch in her two-year contract in Hong Kong was viewed with much more derision.) On top of that, Potter seemed to be thriving at the Auror’s academy despite – as Yasir’s articles sometimes mentioned – never having finished his NEWTs. The paper loved it. The hero was happy at last.

“How’s your alchemy work?” his father asked over dinner one night. Dining in the conservatory hadn’t improved their relationships, but it did feel like they were getting out of the house sometimes.

Draco looked up, blank. “Excuse me?” he said.

Narcissa watched them from behind a delicate sip of wine.

Lucius looked pained. Draco hadn’t meant to be rude just then, but if it worked, it worked, and what was he going to say? I’ve been too caught up with reading about Harry Potter to pursue my interests.

It had been a month. Draco hadn’t expected to hear from Potter, and indeed he hadn’t. Narcissa hadn’t managed to successfully invite Potter for dinner, but she had ventured to Gringotts a week before, and no one had seemed to care.

She was trying to get Draco to go shopping for something non-magical. Robes, maybe.

“Actually,” Draco said, “I’ve been thinking. I could use some new robes.” For all the parties and busy, busy social life.

Narcissa looked pleased. Lucius rolled his eyes.

The walk through Diagon Alley wasn’t as horrible as the one year celebration. For one, he didn’t have to stand around and pretend like he might socialize with someone. Shopping trips could be done in relative solitude. He took a stroll through the wizarding sector of London, an eye out for that black hair, but Potter wasn’t out that day. Daphne Greengrass said hello to him at the Owlery, though, and Draco was so happy he could have cried.

Returning home hours later with hands full of bags he didn’t know what was inside of, Draco went to his room and stood on the balcony. The setting sun glowed red through the lingering storm clouds from earlier that day, and though June had brought some warmer temperatures, a chill wind always seemed to find Malfoy Manor.

He didn’t love Harry Potter. The question was as ridiculous as it had been when Potter had asked. But solitude did funny things to a person, Draco knew. Too much time alone, too much time to think. He hadn’t been touched by someone like that since, well. A handful of kisses with Pansy in fifth year barely counted. Potter had reminded Draco that there was life outside the manor walls. There were things Draco still wanted from life.

He wrote an owl to Daphne. Nice seeing you again, or something like that. He sent it out. He didn’t want to see Goyle. Pansy and Blaise would have reached out if they’d wanted to. Daphne was always an acquaintance, and since he had been reduced to kissing former enemies, Daphne was a healthy step forward.

But because Draco never knew how to do anything properly, the following Friday he paid attention to what he put on, and apparated to the bar Harry Potter liked to make headlines at.

A mixture of relief and fear flooded Draco’s mind when Potter was indeed already there. Rather than freezing in the doorway, Draco made his way to the bar. One bartender wouldn’t look at him, but the other served him a firewhiskey without hostility. He sipped it while keeping Potter just in his peripheral vision.

He was there with his usual group: Granger, Weasley, Longbottom, half a dozen Gryffindors and that Ravenclaw girl. They sat at one of the massive crystal booths with icicles spiking upwards behind them so it looked like they were sitting on a literal, and not just figurative, throne.

When a few of them hit the dance floor, Draco ordered a second drink. Potter joined them, and danced like a Seeker under the blue lights. When a young wizard lightly grabbed Potter’s hips, Potter’s startled look was replaced by something that made Draco’s guts twist. Potter let it carry on for the smallest fraction of a moment before gently pushing the guy away. But it was there.

When Potter and Weasley returned to their table, only two others remained, and it was better than facing four of them than the whole lot. Also a consideration, Granger was still on the dance floor.

Potter and Weasley looked like they were arguing about something when Draco approached their table. Potter looked up, eyes dark.

“Just wanted to say hi,” Draco said.

Weasley looked annoyed, but he nodded at Draco.

“Hi Draco,” Potter said, and damn, Draco had forgotten he’d asked him to call him that.

Draco laughed a little hysterically. “Well,” he said, “have a good night,” and he fled to the men’s room, which was thankfully not made of glass. No one followed him like he’d (hoped) _thought_ , but that was insane to think.

He went back to the bar for a final drink so it didn’t look like he was running out immediately after talking to Potter, not that a soul would have noticed.

The firewhiskey felt good, and tasted like fifth year, before everything went so badly to hell. The glass arches above the bar curled up to the heavens like maybe everything could be all right for a moment.

“Hey,” said Potter, leaning on the bar next to him. Potter wasn’t turned to face him, but he turned his head in Draco’s direction, allowing the sun to shine on one of the disgraced for just a moment.

“Hi Potter,” said Draco. His heart beat in his throat.

“Oh please,” Potter flirted, batting his eyes and doing a terrible impression of Draco’s drawl, “call me Harry.”

Draco tried it out in his head. It sounded ridiculous. Potter’s glittering eyes agreed with him.

“Or not,” Potter amended, laughing. “What are you doing here tonight? Are you here to see me?” he asked.

“Is that why everyone else is here?” Draco asked him.

Potter shrugged. “Maybe.” He nodded at Yasir from the Prophet across the bar. Yasir grinned and raised his glass in reply. “It’s why some people are here, at least.”

“To see which lucky woman Harry Potter’s taking home tonight?”

Potter gave him a look, turning a little more fully in Draco’s direction. How had Draco spent so much of his life watching his man without having a clue what his expressions meant? It was shameful.

The deafening crack accompanied the floor shaking to pieces under them.

Draco fell backwards off his barstool, bracing himself for the impact, but Potter was faster. He caught Draco’s head a second before the glass ceiling shattered into piercing rain.

Potter didn’t notice. He was still looking down at Draco. Draco grabbed for his wand and flung it upwards, crying out a spell to save them. Only then did Potter look up. The glass froze in glittering shards in the air. It was prettier than the nightclub had managed with their theme. Their eyes locked in silent acknowledgement.

“Come on,” said Potter.

Most of the bar fled in shrieking waves. Potter collided with Weasley and Granger going the other direction. They grabbed each other in the kind of hug that Draco had never experienced with any of his friends.

“There’s another dancefloor up there,” Granger said, pointing. “Ron and I will get that.”

“I’ll check the washrooms,” Potter said. He spun to Draco. “Can you check–” Then he seemed to remember who he was talking to.

“No,” said Draco, flushing. “I’ll do it.”

“Check the balcony,” Potter said, then they were gone.

There was nothing else for it. Draco jogged through the crowd until he reached the second floor balcony. The area hadn’t sustained much damage, but a pair of teenagers clutched at each other in the corner, the only people left out here.

“Hey,” said Draco. “We should get out of here.”

“No,” said the girl, shaking her head. “We – we can’t.” Her boyfriend shook even harder than she did.

“Are you hurt?” Draco asked, moving closer.

Again the girl shook her head.

Draco sighed. “All right, just stay here for a minute, then–”

“Please don’t leave us,” said the boy through his tears. “You’re Draco Malfoy, right? You helped Harry Potter win the war. Please stay with us.”

Draco blinked. The kids looked young, younger than they should be in here. He sat down next to them.

“Hogwarts ended early this year?” he asked gently. This was hardly a rule he hadn’t broke himself.

“Ou – our NEWTs are done. The teachers never do anything the week after,” the girl said. “We can’t even do magic right now or we’ll be expelled. We thought–”

“I know what you thought,” said Draco. “And it – it’s okay. You’re safe now.”

He didn’t know if that was true, but the balcony opened up to the sky. He could levitate them all if the building was really going to come down.

Finally the Aurors arrived, with Potter leading the way out onto the balcony. “You’re still here,” he said to Draco, seeming surprised.

Draco scowled. “You asked for my help,” he pointed out. The kids had slowly shuffled towards him over the last half hour, and they were now snuggling his shoulder with abandon.

“Okay,” said Potter. “You can go now. I’ll make sure they get home. Do you guys live far?”

The answer was no, so Potter offered to drive them. Draco was planning on disapparating with what remained of his pride, but the kids clung to him.

“Don’t leave us,” said the boy.

“Er,” said Draco.

“You can come if you want, Malfoy,” said Potter, looking strangely at the kids. It must have been a first for him to find someone who felt safer with Draco than him.

“Please,” begged the girl.

Which is how Draco found himself in a second awkward car ride with Harry Potter. The kids were persuaded to let Draco sit in the front seat, which was a relief to Draco. He did feel like they would have jumped into the front seat if given the chance, though. It was annoying, but honestly, understandable. Draco himself didn’t react all that well to life-or-death situations.

The girl convinced them to drop her at her boyfriend’s, so they drove to the boy’s house. His father answered the door, looking understandably startled to find Harry Potter on the step.

When Potter explained the situation, the father’s face broke into a grin. “I used to sneak into the clubs when I was his age, too,” he said.

“Yeah, he could have died,” said Potter, frowning.

“Boys can use a little adventure,” said the father, somehow missing the growing storm cloud in Potter’s eyes.

While Draco was certain Potter had done more dangerous things than sneaking into a nightclub at fifteen, it was one thing to make a dumb decision as a kid – it was quite another to condone it as an adult. Besides, 

“You weren’t in the war, were you,” Draco said casually.

The man interpreted Draco’s statement correctly. “Hey,” he snapped. “better to have sat out the war than try to help You Know Who himself.”

“Mmm-hmm,” said Draco, as though the man were being reasonable. “Sure. And you’re right. If only you believed what you’re saying.”

“What the hell do you mean?”

“Maybe you feel like you should have been braver in the war, actually fought, or – God, you were a Gryffindor, weren’t you?” Draco asked. The man’s silence answered him clearly enough. “And since you feel like a coward for not turning up at Hogwarts, you want to take all the stupid little risks you can to prove to yourself that you’re actually brave after all.”

The man spared a glance at Potter, the hero of the wizarding world, and looked back at Draco. “Get the hell off my property, Death Eater _scum_ ,” he spat.

Draco rolled his eyes and turned to go. He caught sight of Potter giving the man a considering look.

“Voldemort didn’t have parents looking out for him,” Potter offered. “Your son has a chance that he didn’t.”

The man didn’t snarl any colourful words at Potter, of course, but Potter also didn’t let him. Potter turned and followed Draco back to the car. Draco had acted like the man’s words didn’t affect him, but somehow “Death Eater scum” hadn’t got easier to hear. So much for laying low and letting society forget it didn’t like the Malfoys.

Draco’s preoccupied thoughts were probably why he was distracted enough to climb back into Potter’s vehicle. Potter slid in beside him. They were pulling back onto the main road when Draco remembered he was a grown-ass wizard.

“Er, listen, Potter, I can apparate home,” Draco said, staring at the road in front of them.

“If you want to,” Potter replied.

It was barely an opening, but Draco clung to it like the desperate sod he was. “Why wouldn’t I want to?” he asked.

Potter gave him a strange look like Draco’s question frankly deserved. “No reason,” he said, “unless you want to go back to my place.”

Draco’s heart jumped into his throat, but it fought down any outward reaction. “What do you think happened at the bar?” he asked instead.

Potter shrugged. “That is absolutely for Monday morning,” he said. “Let me just enjoy the rest of my weekend.”

Draco didn’t say anything else. He didn’t apparate home either. When Potter’s car finally came to a stop in a line of parked cars on the side of the road, Draco realized he was going to have to make some kind of choice.

“Come on,” said Potter, throwing open the door to the car. Draco opened his and followed Potter up to number 12. It was a strange, dark house. It didn’t seem like Potter’s style, Draco thought, glancing around the dim front hall. Potter’s coat dropped off his shoulders in Draco’s peripheral vision and he turned to watch Potter hang it on a coat rack.

The decision had been made after all, and Draco hated always waiting for decisions to happen at him.

“Listen, Potter,” said Draco eventually, “I don’t like you. I spent almost my entire childhood hating you.”

This didn’t surprise Potter. “Almost?” he asked, grinning. He leaned against the wall looking like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Draco made a face. “I suppose I thought you were a little interesting when I was ten.”

Potter nodded like this wasn’t news. “And now?” he asked. “Do you still hate me?”

Draco heard his father’s voice telling him not to show dislike for Harry Potter in the back of his mind. “Not really, no,” he admitted, “but I don’t–”

“You don’t love me.”

“I was going to say that I don’t even like you, but yeah,” said Draco. “I’m not sure what you were getting at the other day at my house. You can’t possibly like me either.”

Potter shrugged. “Do I have to?”

For reasons Draco never wanted to think about, the admission hurt him. He already knew Potter didn’t like him – he’d spent years making _sure_ Potter didn’t like him – but bizarrely, he was hurt nonetheless.

Potter watched him with a composure Draco didn’t remember him having in school.

“Do you want a drink?” Potter said suddenly, pushing himself off the wall and walking deeper into the house. He didn’t wait to see if Draco was following.

“Fucking Potter,” Draco muttered, and followed him into a new room. Draco stopped dead. The kitchen and living room combination had clearly been recently renovated; Draco could still smell the sawdust. The room was done in light hardwood on the floors and wood detailing all the way to the raised ceilings. Most of the ceiling was done in glass skylights, but the truly beautiful part was the hundred candles floating near the rafters. It looked so much like Hogwarts that Draco’s breath caught.

“Like it?” Potter murmured, swaying closer with a short tumbler of firewhiskey for Draco.

“I tried doing something like this at home once,” Draco found himself saying. “After sixth year when I thought I’d never get to go back.” Draco had floated candle after candle at the ceiling in his bedroom – the only room his mother had allowed him after he failed the Dark Lord while she figured out how to damage control. The room filled with candles and light, but somehow it never seemed as bright as Hogwarts. When the curtains caught fire, Draco briefly considered letting them just burn until the whole world burned up, but in the end, Draco was always a coward. He extinguished the flames, vanished the candles, and went to sleep.

Lately the memory threatened to overwhelm him because it reminded him of clinging to Potter, terrified he was going to die in the room of hidden things. But these candles in Potter’s house didn’t remind him of living flame and dying friends. They just looked like childhood and safety, and somehow that was even worse.

Draco accepted the glass and wrenched his eyes away from the candles before he did something stupid like cry in front of Potter yet again.

“Why did you kiss me?” Draco asked in a sudden act of bravery.

Potter watched him over the rim of his own glass. “Did you like it?” he said instead of answering Draco’s question.

“I –”

“Harry? Are you home?”

Granger’s voice carried into the kitchen. She didn’t sound like she was along either. Draco could hear numerous footsteps coming up the stairs.

Potter and Draco shared a brief look of horror.

“I’m going to go,” said Draco.

“You don’t have to,” said Potter. He seemed chivalrous enough to say it sincerely, but Draco had seen the look on his face a second before.

“No, but – come by sometime,” he said, and then, before he could think too much about what he was doing, he leaned down and pressed a swift kiss to Potter’s lips.

“Malfoy –”

Draco disapparated.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There will be some very terrible things said by some characters about same-sex relationships. While I do not share these views, I know that can be triggering or upsetting to read. Same-sex relationships can be healthy and fulfilling and romantic.

No one would be surprised to hear that Harry Potter had not dropped by Malfoy Manor since the attack at the nightclub. The wards had indicated a visitor the following day, but before Draco had even enough time to think about the emotion that jumped into his throat, his mother opened the door to reveal two Aurors who wanted to both question Malfoy about what he was doing at the nightclub, and get the hell out of the cursed manor.

The papers wrote about the attack, though Draco’s name wasn’t mentioned. Frankly, he was surprised. Or would have been if he hadn’t been able to get sodding Potter off his mind.

He hadn’t been in touch. It had been another month – two since their first kiss in Draco’s drawing room, but who was counting?

Draco’s preoccupation was developing into full-blown obsession. He had to get out of the house.

Now, here’s where the tricky part lay: On the one hand, the Malfoys needed less attention, not more. Over a year and they were still at the top of the list of suspects for a random attack at a wizard nightclub. The Aurors hadn’t been back, but there also hadn’t been a lick of evidence connecting Draco to whatever had happened.

On the other hand, Draco wasn’t likely to encounter Potter if he sat around with his alchemy studies. (His mother had a potions lab in the dungeons, his father had whatever gadgets he’d been tinkering with in the attic, they all kept busy enough.)

Mid-July, to the horror of his parents, Draco threw a party.

Not at the manor, of course. He’d booked a semi-private room at the Expelliarmus, the hottest new wizarding lounge just off Diagon Alley. Potter wasn’t known to frequent there, but that didn’t matter. Draco invited a few Slytherins, mostly not from his year; two Ravenclaws; McLaggen from Gryffindor, who was a family acquaintance; Yasir Masood as a guest only; and after some consideration, Blaise Zabini.

The Ravenclaws didn’t bother to even reply to his invite, but most of the Slytherins showed up, as did McLaggen and Yasir. Draco himself showed up about half an hour late, and proceeded to buy drink after drink after drink.

“Yasir, did you want another one?” Draco shouted over the music.

The reporter had been persuaded not to work that night, but he kept pleading with Draco for one tiny photo.

“I’m starting to think you’re trying to get me drunk so I’ll forget about documenting this evening,” Yasir said with a sad look around the room. “Do you realize this is one of the biggest gatherings of the Sacred Twenty-Eight since the war?”

Draco bit his lip. He’d forgotten who exactly had been on that archaic list, but it certainly looked like a pure-blood event the more he thought about it. Greengrass, Bulstrode, Nott, Malfoy. Fuck.

“Didn’t you go to school at Beauxbatons?” Draco said instead, sliding into the seat next to Yasir with a smile big enough to cover his chagrin. “How does a nice French boy know about the Sacred Twenty-Eight?”

Yasir smiled. “ _Je fais mes affaires en sachant_ ,” he said.

Lucius Malfoy spoke French, but he had failed to teach his son more than _Hello_ , and _Good idea, Minister_ in the language, so instead Draco leaned a little closer. “That’s kind of hot,” he said.

Yasir’s eyes widened, but before he could say anything, Draco winked and headed over to the bar. Somehow flirting was so much easier when nothing was on the line.

“Not a bad party, Draco,” said Daphne at the bar.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” he said. “What about you … Astoria?” he asked Daphne’s sister, remembering her name just in time.

“Sure,” said Astoria, “if you like pure-blooded spectacles.”

Draco watched her for a moment, but she didn’t seem to have much malice behind her words.

“My friend Yasir was just reminding me that you’re part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight as well,” Draco pointed out. “

Astoria shrugged. “You can’t help how you’re born,” she said, this time a little bitterly. “I thought Draco Malfoy might understand that.” She watched him carefully. “Unless you _do_ believe all that trash about being better than Muggle-borns.”

The party had been intended as a light, let’s-forget-about-the-war-and-get-drunk evening, but here they were, in the middle of the only topic they really needed to address.

“No,” said Draco. He thought about Hermione Granger being tortured in his house and how he would have done anything to stop it if he hadn’t been such an enormous coward. She’d turned around and saved Goyle’s life less than a month later. She was braver and better and stronger than he’d ever be. He was hardly going to say that to Astoria – or anyone, for that matter – but there it was.

Astoria seemed to believe him. “I wouldn’t have thought so,” she said, which seemed an odd thing to say – the two of them had never even spoken before.

Daphne seemed to agree, because she seemed a little embarrassed by her sister. “Tonight’s not really the time to talk about the war,” she said, even though they technically hadn’t been talking about the war. Everything seemed to be the war these days. Granger and Goyle and _Crabbe_ and Potter.

“Can I get at least _one_ photo?” Yasir murmured in Draco’s ear.

“You don’t give up, do you?” Draco asked, pleasantly surprised at the closeness of Yasir’s chest, and the smell of his aftershave.

“Do you want me to give up?” Yasir asked, gaze steady.

Draco nodded to the Greengrass sisters. “Only if my friends agree,” he said.

Daphne nodded, but Astoria rolled her eyes. “I thought we were just saying how we didn’t want this to be a Twenty-Eight night. Now it’s going to be in the papers?”

“Come on, Tori, Mum and Dad would love it,” said Daphne. “Might even get them to lay off for a while.”

Astoria seemed to consider this, and though her expression darkened significantly, she nodded.

Draco was a little thrown. “You don’t have to –”

“No, no,” Astoria insisted. “You were the one who just said we were _friends_ now.”

And with that, she slipped an arm around Draco’s waist and leaned in. Draco was extremely surprised, but he knew this was one of his better chances of being shown in a favourable light in the papers. He leaned against the bar like he and Astoria were old friends, and smirked at the camera.

“Thanks!” said Yasir.

“Don’t mention it,” Astoria muttered, then, catching Draco’s expression, gave a small smile and added, “You’re almost not what I thought.”

Draco gave a short chuckle like that was in any way a compliment, and turned back to Yasir.

“Are you happy now?” Draco asked.

“Deliriously,” agreed Yasir.

“So… do I get something in return?” Draco asked.

Yasir’s dark eyes gleamed in the low lights of the lounge, and he stepped a little closer to Draco.

“How about you come back to my place, and you tell me exactly what you want?” Yasir suggested.

Draco smiled. “ _Bonne idée_ ,” he whispered.

*

As it turned out, both Draco and Yasir were too drunk to do much more than pass out on Yasir’s double bed. 

In the morning, Draco was awoken by the press of warm lips against his. He smiled, kissing back, telling himself that yes, this is what he wan–

No.

“Yasir.”

“Mmm?”

Draco pulled backwards as much as he could while still lying under another person. Yasir was beautiful and smiling and _right here_ and Draco was the stupidest man alive.

“I can’t.” And there it was.

Yasir stilled above him. “If I said–”

“No,” Draco put in in a hurry. “Please. It’s nothing you said. You’re beautiful and I’m – not ready for this. I’m a Death Eater, and I can’t.” He took a breath in frustration. “I’m sorry.”

Yasir gave Draco a look like he was crazy, which was fair. “Sorry for what?” he asked, and without waiting for an answer, rolled off the bed with surprising grace for the hungover, and motioned for Draco to follow him. “Come on, I’ll make you breakfast before you go.”

They had a weirdly pleasant breakfast, sipping tea and looking at Yasir’s one photo from the night before.

“I won’t publish it if you don’t want me to,” Yasir told him, “but something tells me that a rich recluse doesn’t suddenly throw an expensive party without wanting people to know.”

Draco looked at the picture of him and the Greengrass sisters. Daphne seemed pleased enough, but Draco was more interested in him and Astoria. Both of them wore a self-satisfied smirk, although Draco shot her the occasional look of interest, and Astoria returned it with a small smile before rolling her eyes in a good-natured way. It was cute, if a little strange. It would definitely make the casual observer wonder about them.

“Sure,” said Draco, “why not?”

The photo ended up on page three the following Monday along with a note from Yasir asking him for lunch later in the week. Draco agreed. After some minor awkwardness the morning after the party, he decided he quite liked Yasir, and honestly, Draco could use a friend.

Potter still hadn’t dropped by a week later, but Draco hadn’t expected him to. Instead Draco owled Zabini with sincere apologies for not making time to properly talk to him at Expelliarmus, and invited him out for drinks at the newly renovated Glass Menagerie. Potter wasn’t there, but Draco didn’t mind. Zabini’s good looks could always be counted on to attract attention, and sure enough Oliver Wood himself had stopped by their table to say hello.

“Blaise, long time,” Wood said, ignoring Draco entirely.

Blaise’s eyes narrowed just a fraction. “Has it been?” he said. “I’m afraid I haven’t kept track. The last time I saw you was…”

Wood frowned. “That’s how it’s going to be, is it?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Draco sipped his dry martini and smiled to himself just a little. The reporters who had been covering the reopening after the attack had almost all left, but a flash or two came from the windows. A few Muggle-born witches and wizards had those tiny digital cameras with them, and took a few discreet photos of the Quidditch star.

“Listen, I don’t know why I bothered. It’s clear you’ve moved on,” Wood was saying, and it took Draco a second to realize he thought he and Blaise might actually be together.

Blaise threw an arm around Draco, looking far too pleased with himself. “We’re not together,” he said casually, “but if that’s where the night takes us, I can’t say I’ve done too badly.”

Draco placed his martini down on the table and tried to look calm. He was in the presence of two of the best-looking wizards in Britain, and one of them thought he had a chance with someone as beautiful as Blaise Zabini. Then again, Potter was probably one of the best-looking wizards in Britain – if you liked them self-righteous and utterly insufferable – and he’d kissed Draco once. Not that Draco was thinking about Potter tonight.

The night had ended amicably enough. Draco’s childhood crush on Zabini was mercifully long-gone, and that feeling had never been mutual.

Draco was rewarded with his face in the papers the following Monday. He put the paper on top of the one with him and the Greengrass sisters. It was childish, what Draco was doing, but Potter got to him like no one else ever did.

“Darling, surely nothing is between you and that Zabini boy?” his mother asked over breakfast.

“Of course not, Mother,” Draco replied absently. He’d been reading the article about Potter on the front page: Hero Visits Hogwarts to See Old Friend. Draco snorted. How was that front-page news, he thought as he combed the article obsessively.

“What about you and the Greengrass girl?”

“Sorry, what?” Draco asked.

Narcissa frowned. “While I’m not sure this is the best way to slowly reintegrate ourselves with wizarding society, your contacts do seem to be reputable. Camille Greengrass is an old friend of mine. I’m sure we could arrange it if you and the girl would like to see more of each other.”

“No,” Draco said slowly. “No thanks.”

“But she’s quite beautiful, Draco, and from an excellent family,” Narcissa pushed. “Perhaps a wedding might be a better way to gain society’s good favour.”

Draco choked on his tea. Lucius kept his usual silence, but Draco sensed that even he was surprised.

“Not _now_ , of course,” Narcissa assured him. “You hardly know each other. But steps could be taken. Think about it, Darling.”

“Er, I will,” said Draco and promptly returned to the paper and thought about nothing but Potter for the rest of the meal.


	4. Chapter Four

On many days, the Malfoys didn’t see each other at all. The manor was large enough, and its inhabitants all fought their gruesome internal wars. Some days it was better to have no human mirrors reflecting your failures back at you.

Draco made himself return to alchemy. It’s not like interactions with Potter had ever improved his life. With any luck, he could put Potter out of his mind. Research helped calm him. Potions helped Narcissa. Whatever Lucius was doing in the attic without a wand, Draco didn’t know or care.

Then one rainy afternoon, Potter dropped by the house.

“What are you doing here?” Draco asked, his stomach twisting as he saw who was standing on the rain covered steps.

Potter shrugged. “I was invited,” he said.

“Harry, welcome!” called Narcissa from behind Draco. “Draco, _do_ move aside and let our guest in,” she added with a twinge of annoyance.

Draco did.

Potter and Narcissa moved into the drawing room making seamless conversation, and somehow never talking about a thing that mattered. Draco had seen his mother do it her entire life, but he was surprised to see Potter so good at it.

“Fulfilling careers are not something everyone ends up with,” Potter was saying. “I’m very lucky with the Aurors.”

“Not at all,” said Narcissa, “they are the lucky ones with you.”

Draco tried not to scream.

The conversation did falter when Lucius Malfoy walked into the drawing room with yesterday’s Daily Prophet and a five o’clock shadow. Narcissa, who clearly hadn’t told him, looked dismayed.

“Oh, I thought you were spending the evening on the upper levels,” she said after a beat.

Lucius stared at Potter.

“She means we don’t want you here,” Draco told him, wrenching his father’s gaze away from Potter at last.

Potter choked on what was probably a laugh, but Draco stared right back at his father.

Eventually Lucius found his voice. “I’m aware, Draco,” he said quietly. “I won’t bother you again tonight.”

Heart racing, Draco tried to return to the conversation. Narcissa of course did it with ease, and Potter followed quite well. Draco had never had it in him to act like that. Fortunately, Narcissa excused herself to check on the house elves – though of course she didn’t say that – and Draco, oddly, could relax.

Potter noticed and raised his eyebrow in question.

Draco shrugged. “It’s his fault,” he told Potter. “All of it.”

Potter seemed to accept this. “I’m surprised he’s not in Azkaban,” he offered.

Draco stiffened. He blamed his father, but the thought of Lucius in prison sent a shiver through him. Potter, damn him, noticed that too.

“So you know what he did, but you don’t think he should be punished for it,” Potter said quietly.

“There’s no question of _should_ , Potter,” Draco snapped back. “Lots of things _should_ be, but it’s hardly my decision to make, is it? You’d rather I march down to the ministry and demand for his incarceration?”

“You’d hardly be the only one calling for it,” Potter pointed out.

Draco knew this. He knew his family was so damn lucky. “Why haven’t you, then? You’re in more of a position to make it happen than I am.”

Potter still seemed fairly uninvested in the conversation, leaning back on the sofa now that the lady of the house was out of the room. “I told them you and your mum helped me,” Potter said. “I never discussed him when the time came.”

“Why not?”

Potter gave a small smile. “Ginny,” he said, probably not even realizing the thought of her made him look like that. Draco felt sick with jealousy. “Lucius Malfoy hurt her during the war, he hurt others,” Potter went on. “It should have been _their_ voices that spoke against him.”

“I guess their voices didn’t mean that much,” Draco said.

“I guess not,” said Potter. “Ginny was pretty upset. Her dad, too. But so many people remember him on our side at the battle that he never became a priority for the ministry.” Potter gave a short laugh. “Do you remember him on our side? I don’t. I only ever remember him on yours.”

Draco stiffened. “He’s not on my side,” he said. “He’s not on anyone’s.”

Potter took another sip of his beer. “I guess it doesn’t matter now,” he said, and they lapsed into silence. The rain fell hard against the windows. For all Draco wanted Potter to come by, he had no idea what to do now. It would have been nice if Narcissa had warned him.

When they moved into the dining room for dinner, the conversation turned to Potter’s love life, of all things,

“But you must have someone special in your life, Harry,” Narcissa said.

“Ginny and I plan to be together,” Potter said over the table. “It’s hard with her contract in Hong Kong right now, though.”

Narcissa nodded politely. Either she hadn’t seen the papers and their colourful stories about Potter’s string of lovers, or she didn’t care to press the issue.

“Perhaps you should talk to Draco about finding someone,” Narcissa said to Draco’s horror.

Potter smiled into his napkin, looking badly like he wanted to laugh. “Not really my place to,” he said eventually.

“I’m sure he could always listen to a wise word from a peer,” Narcissa insisted. “He’ll see that Greengrass girl, but insult her by not making a commitment.”

Draco had run into Astoria one other time since Expelliarmus, and they’d had a pleasant but short conversation. Draco felt a little more normal in public, and he was in a good enough mood afterwards to mention it to his mother about it when he got home. Apparently that was enough for Narcissa Malfoy.

“Yes, awful,” Potter agreed, looking somber.

Draco kicked him under the table.

“Witches these days are a lot more liberal-minded,” Draco heard himself saying. “Astoria would have a say in the matter as well.”

Narcissa pressed her lips together. “Everyone generation thinks the world has changed so much for them, but it’s almost never the case,” she said. “You’ll all see with your own children one day.”

After dinner they moved to the conservatory for tea, but Narcissa excused herself almost immediately.

“You’ll have to excuse me, Harry,” she said, “I’m afraid I’m quite tired. Please stay as long as you’d like. I’m sure you young people would love to catch up.”

Narcissa knew perfectly well what Potter and Draco had been like together at school, but no doubt this was just more of Narcissa’s plan to integrate the family back into society. Draco rolled his eyes as Potter and his mother shook hands.

“What should we get caught up on first?” Potter said with a grin once Narcissa had left.

“Definitely the time we braided each other’s hair in first year,” Draco said, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair.

“I don’t know,” said Potter, “the late-night gossiping sessions shouldn’t be discounted.”

“You never did respect the braiding craft,” Draco chided. “Some things never change, Potter.”

“Your house has, thank God,” Potter said. “It’s barely recognizable.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Draco inquired, opening his eyes.

Potter put down his drink. “No,” he said.

Draco might have asked another question, but it then became immediately apparent why Potter was there. Draco watched as Potter stood up and came to stand in front of him. Draco’s heart stopped.

“Can I?” Potter asked.

Draco nodded, reaching up to pull Potter onto his lap. Potter brought their mouths immediately together, and rational thought left Draco completely.

So it wasn’t as if Draco in any way liked Harry Potter. Potter had always been a horrible person, an obstacle to overcome, an enemy splitting you open in the toilets. He had also saved Draco’s life, swooping through the smoke to pull Draco to safety.

Draco didn’t love him, but he didn’t know what else that meant.

Unlike with their first kiss, Potter took his time. His hand came around to the back of Draco’s head, and he slowly parted Draco’s lips with his tongue.

Draco felt arousal building in him, pushing through the fabric of his robes. He had a moment of terror that Potter would feel it, but when Potter finally shifted and _did_ feel it, Draco felt him smile into the kiss.

“Hey there,” Potter murmured.

Draco gave a shaky laugh in relief. His laughed stopped abruptly when Potter ground down against him.

“Oh my God,” whispered Draco.

“Like that?” Potter asked.

“Yeah,” Draco breathed.

So Potter did it again. And again, and again until –

“Wait,” said Draco, “I’m going to–”

Potter stilled. “Don’t you want to?” he asked, his lips still a breath away from Draco’s.

God, did he ever. “Yeah, but,” said Draco.

Potter grinned. “Had something in mind?”

Draco made a face and kissed Potter again rather than replying. Bravery wasn’t his style, but if he wanted what he wanted from this Gryffindor, he might need it.

“Take off your clothes,” Draco said. He tried to say it with confidence, but truthfully he didn’t know if that’s how this sort of thing went.

It seemed to work. Potter stood and pulled off his own robes in one motion. Draco nearly died at the naked form of Harry Potter in front of him. This was actually happening.

“Maybe you do the same?” Potter asked.

Draco nodded. He stood up, but Potter seemed to want to help him. Draco had never had another person want to undress him before, and the feeling of Potter’s hands as he pulled at Draco’s robes was overwhelming. By the time he was naked, Draco was trembling.

“If this isn’t what you want,” Potter began, seeing this.

Draco shook his head, but didn’t dare use his voice. Instead he stepped in closer to Potter, and put a hand on Potter’s waist. He leaned their foreheads together, closing his eyes for a moment to try to compose himself, despite knowing that was probably impossible.

“I want this,” Draco whispered.

Potter brought their lips back together, but he let Draco take his time to lean into him. After a moment of paralyzing terror, Draco pressed close to Potter. Their cocks brushed against each other, and Draco’s mind imploded.

Potter moaned into the kiss, which was encouragement Draco never even imagined getting. He slid his tongue over Potter’s, rutting up against him. 

When Potter pulled back, Draco groaned at the loss of contact.

“No, wait,” said Potter, “you’ll like this better,” and he took Draco’s cock in his hand.

Draco felt like Potter had taken his entire being in his hand, felt vulnerable and strong at the same time. Then Potter started to move, and Draco felt only pleasure spiking through him with every stroke.

He couldn’t maintain the kiss, so he let his head fall forward on Potter’s shoulder, and lost himself to the feel of Potter’s hand.

“Potter, I’m going to,” Draco panted.

“Do it,” said Potter, and Draco came in a violent shudder.

Distantly Draco heard Potter laugh. Not viciously – but like he was just genuinely pleased.

Draco smiled into Potter’s shoulder, then pushed himself up to look at Potter directly.

“Something amusing?” he asked, grinning.

“It’s a little weird, you have to admit,” Potter said.

“I thought that was what you liked about it,” Draco said. “I thought you were tired of fucking your adoring fans.”

“Maybe,” Potter said. “That doesn’t explain why you’re doing this.”

Leaving that implied question firmly alone, Draco ran his hands up and down Potter’s arms.

“Let’s give you another reason,” said Draco, and he dropped to his knees.

Potter’s mouth dropped open as he looked down at Draco. “You don’t have to,” he said.

“You don’t want me to?” Draco asked.

“I do,” Potter said slowly, and gasped as Draco took him into his mouth.

Draco hadn’t had any practice, but he’d imagined it enough times to at least have a plan. He prayed Potter wouldn’t learn of his distinct lack of experience, but he suspected it was too late for that. Fortunately, Potter seemed to be busy, gasping and clutching at Draco’s shoulders, so Draco couldn’t be doing too bad a job. When he added a hand to stroke at the base of Potter’s cock while he sucked, Potter came almost instantly. He buckled over, shooting come down Draco’s throat. It wasn’t as disgusting as Draco thought it would be – just the opposite in fact. Harry Potter had just come in his mouth, and Draco had no idea how to process this.

When Potter finally straightened up, he pulled Draco up with him. He kissed Draco again because apparently Potter was a gentleman, then he turned a began to gather his robes.

Still feeling like the world had stopped spinning and somehow managed to start again, Draco got dressed, too. He wanted to turn to Potter and demand an explanation for everything that had just happened, but he wasn’t ready to let go of sanity quite yet.

When they were both dressed, Potter grinned at him. “Better than braiding, don’t you think?” he asked.

“Only because you were such a disaster at it that anything else you do looks better in comparison.”

Potter laughed. “Whatever, Malfoy,” he said. “Will you see me to the door, or do I have to write your mother about all the etiquette you flouted today?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Draco said dryly, but he walked Potter to the door all the same. “You should come back sometime,” Draco said after an awkward moment of silence.

“Maybe,” said Potter, but he looked like he was seriously considering it.

Draco hesitated again, then stepped in one more time and kissed him for just a moment.

Potter kissed him back – for just that moment – then pulled away and opened the door. The rain had stopped, but the night air still smelled of it. “Night, Draco,” he said.

“Good night,” Draco replied.

This time he didn’t watch Potter walk back to his car, he didn’t linger at the door. Draco turned promptly and went to the conservatory to vanish any evidence of what had taken place.

What had taken place.

Draco replayed the evening in his mind so many times that by the time he went to bed, he had half convinced himself the entire thing had only taken place in his head. That didn’t stop him from going through it another few times before he fell asleep. It wasn’t every day Harry Potter came to his house and jerked him off, after all.

The next day the Malfoys had breakfast together. Lucius had said good morning, but had otherwise lapsed into total silence. Draco was pretty quiet as well, still in shock about the night before. Narcissa was writing a letter and didn’t seem inclined to offer any conversation. If Draco hadn’t spent every other morning in this smothering silence since the war, it might have explained his outburst, but he had, and it didn’t.

“Can we just stop?” he yelled suddenly into the silence.

Narcissa frowned at her letter for a moment before lifting her troubled expression to her son.

Suddenly Draco was shaking. “Vince is _dead!_ Aunt _Bella_ … is dead.” He saw his mother flinch, but he didn’t stop. “What are we even doing?”

Narcissa seemed startled, but still not overly bothered. She seemed to be a porcelain statue for all the emotion she showed. Draco almost left right then, but then he caught sight of his father.

Lucius Malfoy, disgraced Death Eater, and luckiest man alive for evading prison yet again, sat hunched over with his elbows on the table and his hand over his eyes. Draco didn’t think Lucius was crying, but he wasn’t sure, and besides…

“You don’t get to look like that,” Draco snapped.

Lucius raised his eyes, and Draco lost a hold on some of his anger. He tried desperately to cling to it, but this was Father.

“Don’t,” said Draco, faltering.

“Draco,” said Lucius, a world of pleading in that one word.

Draco squeezed his eyes shut.

“I’m so sorry about Vincent,” said Lucius, sounding wrecked.

The name brought back all of Draco’s fury. “No,” said Draco, shaking. “Vince was still in school when he made all his dumb choices. You were an adult, and you made them twice.”

“Draco,” said Narcissa, finally putting down her quill. “The war is over. Perhaps we should try to move past it. Don’t you think I miss–” She swallowed the name.

They sat there in silence for another moment. The crackling in the fireplace sounded just a shade too much like Fiendfyre – death and rescue. Finally Draco rose to his feet. “You’re wrong about the war,” he said, and left.

The manor was stifling, but that was nothing new. What was new was that Draco had other options. He disapparated and found himself in front of the Daily Prophet headquarters.

It wouldn’t do to show up shaking and falling apart for the press, so Draco pulled himself together the best he knew how and pushed open the doors.

He cleared his throat at the reception desk, but the young wizard didn’t notice.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Excuse me,” he said.

The wizard looked up and his eyes went wide. “Draco Malfoy?” he asked, shocked.

“The very same. Is Mister Masood around? We had an appointment later today, but I’d rather meet now if he’s available,” Draco said, hoping this would work.

The wizard continued to gawk for only a moment, then he waved his wand and an orange mist flew off through the doors behind him.

“Draco?” Yasir asked, coming through the doors five awkward minutes later.

Draco forced a smile. “Hi,” he said.

“What brings you?” Yasir asked.

Things had ended amicably between them, but Draco knew ending up in someone’s bed had the potential to make things very complicated. Or so he’d assumed. He didn’t know how Yasir would act.

“Are you – going for lunch soon?” Draco tried. “I was just in the area and thought I might stop by.”

The young wizard at the desk harrumphed in indignation, but Yasir and Draco ignored him.

Yasir looked at the clock in the lobby. It showed half ten. Definitely too early for a plausible lunch, but when Yasir looked back at Draco, he must have seen something desperate there, because he accepted.

They walked the long route through Diagon Alley to the Leaky Cauldron. A few shoppers spared them a glance. One wrinkled her nose at Draco, but that was all.

“Listen, Draco,” said Yasir as the approached the pub, “my guy and I are on again. I know we’ve broken up a few times already, but I think we’re really ready to try and make it work.”

Draco stared at him a moment before he realized Yasir was trying to let him down gently. Draco could have kissed him. Except not.

“No!” he exclaimed. “I mean, that’s great. I didn’t ask you out because I wanted. I just thought. Well.”

Yasir laughed. “Okay, what, then?”

Draco exhaled. “I just wanted to talk to a friend.”

Yasir must have realized that Draco’s life was indeed as pathetic as it must have looked if Draco had no one else to go to than him, but Yasir was kind. He held the door open at the pub. “That I can do,” said Yasir.

Draco’s smile faded. “Off the record,” he insisted.

Yasir rolled his eyes. “I wish I could have a conversation with even my mum without that question.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Please do,” said Yasir as they grabbed a table. “Now tell me, what’s going on with you? Man trouble?”

“No!” Draco exclaimed, outraged.

“Then what?”

The place was empty, and it’s not like Draco was going to use Potter’s name anyway. So he told him. He picked at his napkin the whole time, and avoided eye contact, but he got it out.

When he got to the end of his story, Yasir seemed excited.

“So ask him out,” Yasir offered.

“Absolutely not,” said Draco.

“You want to see him again,” Yasir said. It wasn’t a question. When Draco didn’t respond, he continued, “And he seems to want to see you. Your mother already seems to like him. It could work.”

Draco snorted. “My mother’s reaction is not the one I’m worried about.”

“You don’t think your father would approve?”

“Like I care what he thinks,” Draco snapped. “Sorry,” he said immediately. He couldn’t afford to alienate his only friend. “He’s just old-fashioned, is all.”

“Coming out is hard, Draco,” said Yasir, “even if you know one of your parents has your back.”

Draco made a face at the idea of sitting his parents down for that kind of talk, and resumed shredding his napkin into his tea. “It’s not like there’s anything to come out and say. The guy – he and I aren’t anything.”

“So you keep saying,” Yasir said, swatting Draco’s hand away from the napkin.

“Because it’s true.”

“Of course it is.”

They lapsed into some silence. When the bartender came around with the bill, Yasir snatched it out of Draco’s hands.

“I dragged you down here,” Draco pointed out.

Yasir shrugged, reaching into his pocket for a few sickles. “Let me,” he said with a grin. “You can get it next time.”

It was stupid, but his lunch with Yasir had made Draco feel a million times better. He perused the shops for a bit, and spent the better part of the day in Flourish and Blotts reading a riveting story about a witch who hid her illness from her family until it was too late. He left the biographies about the war firmly alone.

When he returned home having bought the book so he could finish up the last few chapters, he apparated directly to his bedroom so he wouldn’t have to see his parents, though his anger had abated. It was better, having had the day away from the manor. It was almost like the days before, when he would floo home from Pansy’s on summer break, or spend the day with Crabbe and Goyle on the grounds. It was, in fact, though Draco didn’t know it at the time, almost exactly like the old days.


	5. Chapter 5

Looking back, Draco isn't sure why he didn’t see it. The fact remains, however, that he was utterly caught of guard by his mother’s machinations. Had he really forgotten she was a Slytherin once again?

“Camille and I have been talking, darling,” Narcissa said over breakfast one morning.

Draco had no idea who Camille was, so he assumed she was talking to Lucius and didn’t look up from his book.

“Did you hear me, Draco?” Narcissa asked sharply.

“Sorry, mother,” he said, putting down the book. “Who is Camille?”

“Astoria’s mother,” Narcissa said promptly. “We think it’s a good match.”

A minute passed, and then another.

“I’m sorry, what?” Draco asked faintly.

Narcissa looked at her son sternly. “Don’t pretend, Draco,” she said. “You know what I’m talking about.”

Draco did. He looked helplessly at Lucius, who was frowning. Then Draco remembered that he didn’t care what Lucius thought, and turned back to his mother.

“I don’t want this,” Draco said quietly.

Narcissa took a moment to respond. When she did, it was equally softly. “How else do you think you might find someone?” she asked. “I don’t say this to be cruel, darling, but you must admit our situation is … unique. We are hardly welcome in society I’m glad your party went well that time, and I can’t say how happy I am to see you going out with friends, even if it is infrequently, but I imagine few people will consider a Malfoy as a serious partner. Do you disagree?”

Draco stared at the floor. “No,” he said.

“Darling,” Narcissa said, covering his hand with hers. “Nothing has been decided. Camille says she knows Astoria won’t cooperate with anything unless it pleases her, but why don’t we try? The fact that I even still have this connection is incredible, not to mention that the Greengrass family is one of the Sacred Twenty-Three–”

Draco flinched.

“–It would look good for us. Please at least try.”

She wasn’t wrong, his mother. She wasn’t wrong and Draco hated it. He didn’t look up, but he did nod.

Narcissa removed her hand. “Thank you, Draco,” she said. “We thought you could meet formally at a Rosier soiree next weekend – not _that_ Rosier, my other cousin – his daughter is getting engaged. A low-pressure environment with supervision. All of us have been invited through their wards, but I wonder if you shouldn’t come,” she added to Lucius, who didn’t say a word, “but maybe we’ll have them over another time for lunch if it all goes well.”

Draco could already see visions of little pure-blood grandchildren in Narcissa’s eyes and wondered when exactly he’d grown up in her eyes. It couldn’t have been during the war. Or maybe it was just that she wanted him to.

*

The night of the party was clear and cool. Narcissa came to fetch Draco from his rooms. She was wearing a silver dress with a cape that fell to the floor behind her and rubies at her throat. Draco wore all black. It was the safest option, and the one least likely to make him stand out in a crowd of Merlin only knew who.

They apparated together, arriving at the gates and passing seamlessly through the wards, as promised. The residence ahead was smaller than the Malfoy’s, but lights shone from every window, and laughter rang from within. It made Draco long for something he couldn’t even define.

To Draco’s horror, they were announced at the door. Narcissa smiled like it was her due, having been born into the Rosier family on her mother’s side. Draco stretched his lips in response, and stayed close to his mother like a coward.

Then he read the sign.

In white sparkling letters, hovering over the dance floor, were the words: _Congratulations Audrey and Percival_

Draco tried for a beautiful moment to pretend like it wasn’t _that_ Percival, but no – there, and there again – red head after red head. Almost a dozen of them scattered around the room, talking happily. Percival Weasley was going to marry Audrey Rosier, and Draco was the biggest fool alive.

In a moment of even greater foolishness, Draco turned to his mother to say something, but he shut his mouth quickly. She’d known. Of course she’d known.

“Narcissa, Draco, is that really you?” said Louis Rosier, proud father-of-the-bride.

Narcissa glided over and kissed her cousin on both cheeks, then his wife. They exchanged meaningless pleasantries until Louis called his daughter over.

Naturally, Audrey came with Percival.

“Aunt Narcissa,” said Audrey, “Draco, please meet Percy Weasley, my fiancé.”

Percy shook hands and smile at Narcissa. He offered his hand to Draco as well, and no one would have caught his hesitation unless they were looking for it. It came with a slight hardening of his eyes. Draco knew about Bill Weasley, and prayed to God he wasn’t here today. But no. There was Fleur Delacour with a tall red-headed man on the dance floor.

As Draco watched the happy couple, wondering how this could get any more horrible, Ginevra Weasley, back from Hong Kong for the party, it seemed, led her partner out on the floor next to Fleur and Bill.

Ginny was tall and beautiful. Her gold dress showed off her toned arms and delicate frame. She was easily the most beautiful person in the room, even dancing next to the part-Veela, and still Draco couldn’t look away from her partner.

Potter was as bad a dancer as Draco remembered him to be from that ball back in fourth year. He was wearing midnight blue dress robes that looked to be off-the-rack. A little shorter than his partner, he nevertheless brought Ginny down a few inches when he stepped on her foot and she stumbled into him. They broke away laughing, Potter’s eyes lighting up, and Draco’s breath caught in his throat.

“Daphne said you had some little rivalry with him at school,” said a quiet voice to Draco’s right, “but I have to say I never knew you were into his girlfriend as well.”

Draco turned to Astoria, absurdly grateful that she had dragged him away from staring like a fool.

“Well, Narcissa and I have much catching up to do,” said an older white woman who must have been Camille. They left Draco alone with Astoria.

“You must have noticed back at school,” Draco said, not even bothering to deny it. “Were you not in Slytherin?”

Astoria laughed shortly. “No, I was,” she said.

Draco bit his lip at the implied insult, but Astoria laughed. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I didn’t see you much either.”

“Why not?” Draco asked, puzzled. He’d known her in school, he was sure – a smaller figure with Daphne and Blaise in the library sometimes.

Astoria frowned. “Didn’t anyone ever say?”

“Say w–”

“Tori, hi!” said a familiar voice.

Draco closed his eyes. What the hell had he been thinking, agreeing to this?

Astoria whirled. “Hermione,” she said, pleased.

Draco opened his eyes in time to watch Granger catch sight of who Astoria was with.

“Malfoy,” Granger said, clearly stunned.

Astoria looked hesitantly between them.

“I should go,” said Granger.

“Wait,” said Draco. “Please.”

Granger’s eyes widened.

Draco lowered his voice, but he still needed to say it: “I want to apologize,” he told her. “I _need_ to apologize. What happened when you – when my aunt – I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”

Granger, bless her, was always smart enough to know, even when someone was an incoherent mess.

“You obviously did know,” she told him, “or else you would have looked at us when they asked you who we were. I was standing right there. You knew it was me.”

Draco nodded. “I didn’t want you to die,” he said.

Granger stared. “That’s hardly an apology, Malfoy,” she told him, which of course he knew, “but it’s not like you tortured me yourself. You didn’t capture me, you didn’t take my wand.” She stared at him a moment. “You did nothing.”

Astoria watched them very carefully. Draco could feel both women watching him. He hoped the wards would let him disapparate, too, but he owed Granger at least the decision to end the conversation herself.

“You did nothing, so I’m not sure you have anything to apologize for,” Granger told him shortly. Her voice was cold. “Aside from everything at school, that is. I don’t think very much of you, Draco Malfoy, but I suppose I never expected you to say what you did, so there’s that.”

Draco looked up.

Granger seemed a little uncertain.

“You saved my life,” he said, not knowing when he might get another opportunity to talk to her. “I know I didn’t personally – at my house, but you had no reason to save me and Goyle from that fire. I owe you my life, and if you ever need anything from me, I swear I’ll give it to you.”

He hadn’t meant to say all that, but it certainly got a reaction from Granger. Her eyes had gone even wider, and she seemed at a loss for words.

“Quite the declaration,” Astoria murmured.

“Honestly, it was Harry’s idea anyway,” Granger said, laughing a little to break the tension, “but yes, Malfoy, thank you. I … appreciate the sentiment, and I say this without malice, but what I’d mostly like from you is to not talk to you.”

“Of course,” he said.

“Tori, I’ll see you at the office,” Granger said, giving Astoria a real smile, and departing as quick as she could.

“Yikes,” Astoria said.

“Why am I even _here_?” Draco said to her, resisting the urge to put his head in his hands.

“I thought it was to court me,” Astoria said, and when Draco felt the blood drain from his face, she laughed. “Let’s hit the bar,” she said. “You look like you could use a drink.”

Astoria wanted to do shots, so they did. A few people sent Draco a look, but no one cared for the most part, not even the Weasley brother at the other end of the bar. Astoria explained her work – an intern in the Muggle liaison office – and Draco talked a bit about Alchemy. It wasn’t bad, but Draco really did have to be sure.

“Do you … want to court?” he asked Astoria. He didn’t think so, but he had to be sure.

Astoria had been leaning back against the bar sipping her third firewhiskey on the rocks. Her brown hair was done up in gold ornaments. She was beautiful; anyone could see that. Draco looked at her breasts under the clingy black dress she wore, followed the curve of her hips. He tried to feel something, and … didn’t.

“No,” said Astoria, amused. “Do you?”

“No!” Draco said, too loudly, thanks to the alcohol. He looked around, expecting to see his mother’s disapproving stare being turned his way, but she was laughing with Camille on the other side of the room. “I mean, you’ve very beautiful,” he added in the quieter voice of a sober person. “I’m not ready for marriage. I just thought I’d make sure we agreed. You seem–”

Astoria still looked amused. “Seem what?”

Draco lifted his glass to her. “You’re trying to get me drunk.”

Instead of answering right away, Astoria took another sip of her firewhiskey. She gazed absent-mindedly over the dance floor. Draco had been trying not to do the same all evening. Despite the fact that Ron Weasley was up there making a fool of himself with his girlfriend, Draco couldn’t risk seeing Potter and Ginny again. He tried not to think about them, and tried not to think about what that meant.

“I don’t want to court you, Draco,” Astoria said after a while. Draco had almost forgotten he’d been waiting for her response. “I do want something from you, though,” she added.

“What?” Draco asked.

Astoria glanced at him, then back at the dance floor. She seemed nervous now. “Can you pretend like we are? Just for a few months?”

Draco was stunned.

“Weeks, even?” Astoria amended, misinterpreting Draco’s silence.

“Yes,” Draco said in a rush. “Yes, let’s do that. It would help me a lot.”

“You…” Astoria began to smile. “All right,” she said.

“Why would you want to do such a thing, though?” Draco asked. There was nothing in it for her. Not a beautiful pureblood whose family hadn’t been involved in the war. She could have anyone in the room.

Astoria glanced at the dance floor again. Draco turned to look this time as well, but he couldn’t see what she saw. Instead he saw Potter dip Ginny, low. Her fiery ponytail touched the floor below her.

“Would you like to dance?” Astoria asked, evading his question.

Draco looked at her. Her eyes were bright, but it might have been the alcohol. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

Draco held out his hand and she took it. They moved smoothly over to the dance floor, not taking their eyes off each other. For Draco it was because he couldn’t bear to look elsewhere. For Astoria, it was something else. Draco wasn’t an idiot, and he knew there wasn’t a chance she had a good reason for the act, but he knew this would look good for him, for his family. At least for a while.

They came together on the edge of the dance floor, bodies touching, but not pressed tightly together. Astoria gave him a smile, and together they began to move.

Draco was dancing at an important societal event with a beautiful pureblood witch. His mother would be watching, maybe Potter might see, too. Astoria was smiling, and Draco could have loved her for this moment alone.

“Thank you,” Draco said, low.

Astoria blinked up at him. “What–” Then her eyes drifted higher, above Draco’s head. She gasped.

Where the letters of congratulations had hovered earlier, there was now a green mist swirling across the words. Draco watched as the letters began to droop. Some fell away in a sickening hiss. The rest rearranged themselves to the horror of the guests, who had caught on, one by one.

_De…ath ….. E.ater ….. s..cu.m…_

“Malfoy,” said Potter, grabbing Draco’s arm, pulling him away from Astoria.

“Potter,” Draco said.

Potter’s eyes were hard. “You have to get out of here. You’re in danger.”

Draco pulled his arm out of Potter’s. “Not without my mother,” he said.

Then the roof exploded.

Screams filled the air as debris rained down. Potter already had a shield charm up over the dance floor. Many wizards and witches did as well. The rubble hit hard, and fell harmlessly to the floor. Draco caught a glimpse of silver and blonde hair under Molly Weasley’s shield charm across the hall.

Draco frantically looked around for Astoria, who was with him a second ago before Potter pulled him away. He couldn’t see her, but she must still be on the dance floor. She must be under Potter’s shield.

“Harry, can you hold it?” Ron Weasley asked, coming up suddenly with Granger beside him.

Potter had his wand held high above his head. Smaller bits of the ceiling still fell against the shield. “I’ve got this,” he said. “Go to the edge of the” – _dance floor_ – “shield to see what’s going on.”

“Astoria,” Draco whispered, turning around with renewed horror. “Potter, you have to let me out.”

Potter frowned. “You shouldn’t,” he said. “They’re here for you.”

“I have to find Astoria,”: Draco insisted, a sickening feeling spreading through him. “She was at the edge of your shield.”

“She’s probably under someone else’s,” Potter insisted. “The writing gave everyone plenty of warning. I’m sure she–”

“ _Potter._ ”

Potter glanced around. “You can only pass through the shield one way,” he warned. “There’s still debris falling.”

Draco squinted up through the dust that had filled the room. He could make out the hole. It wasn’t as big as Draco thought it would be. Beyond it, he could see the night sky, although he thought he also saw…

“I’ll go with him,” said Ginny Weasley. 

Potter looked torn, but Ginny wasn’t waiting for his permission. She grabbed Draco by the arm, and they ran together across the dance floor, weaving through terrified groups of people, huddled together.

Draco saw her first.

“Weasley,” he croaked, pointing.

Ginny blew through Potter’s shield without a second thought. She had her own wand already up, but she waited for Draco before she cast it. A few pebbles clacked off the shield.

Astoria wasn’t conscious, but she was clearly breathing. Her arms and shoulders were covered in small cuts from the explosion.

“You’ll have to levitate her,” Ginny said.

“I can’t,” Draco choked. “I’m drunk. I’ll drop her.”

Ginny rolled her eyes like of _course_ the useless Malfoy couldn’t do it – not that she was wrong – and asked him to do a shield charm instead. There wasn’t much falling now, and if Draco’s drunken shield charm fell, well, they’d still probably be fine.

Astoria floating before them, Draco and Ginny made their way around the other shield charms in the room until they were out in the entrance hall. Draco dropped his shield charm and went to open the front door. Then he paused.

“What?” Ginny snapped, impatient.

“There’s a Dark Mark in the sky,” Draco said.

Ginny paled, but nodded for Draco to continue.

Together they raced down to the edge of the property where the wards would let them disapparate. The Dark Mark cast a sickly glow over Astoria’s skin.

“Here,” said Ginny, grabbing Draco’s arm. She disapparated all three of them because of course she could.

The lobby of St. Mungo’s was a swirls of activity, Ginny summoned a healer with simply the force of her presence, or so Draco assumed. He watched as Ginny told the healers what happened, confident, not leaving anything out or room for misunderstanding. The healers raced Astoria behind some doors and a receptionist pointed Draco to the waiting room.

Ginny followed him halfway. “I’m going back,” she said. “Whoever it was … they’re still at the party.”

Draco nodded numbly, and Ginny seemed to take pity on him.

“I’ll tell your mum you’re here,” she said, and disapparated.

The waiting room was full of families. A tiny witch in the corner was sneezing violet bubbles every few minutes much to her delight and her father’s dismay. A young teenager seemed to be nursing a broken arm, but kept insisting to her older brother how cool it was and that she was sure mum and dad wouldn’t be mad at him just because he was babysitting.

A Death Eater shouldn’t be in the room with bubbles and families, but Draco sat in the corner and closed his eyes. Astoria had been injured because he’d let Potter drag him off. Hell, she’d been injured because someone hadn’t wanted Draco at the party.

_Ginny Weasley was as powerful and wonderful as everyone said…_

There was that, too, but Draco had been trying not to be selfish and think about Potter. Instead he put his head in his hands and wept.


	6. Chapter Six

Narcissa and Camille arrived together about two hours later.

“They had to search everyone first,” Narcissa explained, her expression conveying a wealth of annoyance and disdain. “They demanded to _priori incantatem_ everyone’s wand to see who had cast the Dark Mark. As though half the imbeciles in that room even had the power to do so.”

Draco looked around in alarm. “Mother,” he said.

“Hush, Draco, I’ve obviously taken precautions,” said Narcissa. “Only you could hear me just now.”

“Even so,” he murmured.

Camille was family, so she had disappeared through the doors at the end of the hall while Draco and Narcissa waited. A few bubbles drifted over their way and Draco blew them back at the child.

“Stop that,” Narcissa snapped.

Draco just looked at her. Here was Narcissa in public, not being cast out, and yet she wasn’t piling on any of her standard charm.

Narcissa caught his glance. “Darling,” she said, and paused. A purple bubble attached itself to her hair, but she didn’t notice, and Draco wasn’t about to say anything. “How was your evening?” Narcissa asked.

Draco’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“No one else was hurt, you know,” she said.

Draco continued to stare.

Narcissa rubbed her temple. “I just meant,” she said. “It was hard for me,” she added. “At the party. Molly Weasley was there.”

_Oh_. Draco nodded.

To be honest, Draco had never been quite sure how Mother felt about Aunt Bella. They’d obviously been close, but they were always arguing – over Draco, over Lucius, over Narcissa’s inadequate levels of pride in hosting the Dark Lord in her house – _“You should really talk with him more, Cissy. Let Draco learn from him as I did.”_

Narcissa spoke again, low. “I can’t say I didn’t feel a certain amount of relief when I heard she died, but – she was the only sister I had left. I grieve for her still. I’m told Bella was trying to kill Molly’s daughter, which I’m sure she was, the idiot. It doesn’t mean her death hurts me less.”

“Have you thought about reaching out to Aunt Andromeda?” Draco asked.

Narcissa looked at him strangely. “Of course not,” she said.

Camilla returned to the waiting room around the same time the little witch with the bubbles was ushered in. She waved to Draco over her father’s shoulder and Draco smiled at her.

Narcissa stood. “How is she?”

“She only fainted,” said Camille. “She’s fine.”

“What?” asked Draco, shocked. “Really?”

Camille seemed more sad than made sense for someone who supposedly only fainted. “She said she wants to see you, Draco.”

Camille led Draco to a small room in a busy corridor, but insisted on waiting outside.

Inside, Astoria looked tiny in the bed, a quill and parchment hovering over her and taking notes. She smiled when she saw Draco.

“How are you feeling?” Draco asked softly, coming to stand next to the bed. He was horrified at the whole thing and somehow thought speaking quietly might save Astoria from further injury.

“Oh, I’m fine,” Astoria said, waving a hand in dismissal. “I just fainted in surprise. The cuts were all superficial,” she added, gesturing to her now-smooth skin, “I didn’t even hit my head.”

Draco was glad to see her healed, but he also wasn’t a fool. “You fainted in surprise,” he repeated.

“Well,” said Astoria, looking uncomfortable, “yeah. It's my blood pressure. It happens a lot.” She squinted up at him. “You really don’t know?”

Draco shook his head.

“I’m sick, Draco,” she said. “I’ve always been weaker. I missed so much school as a kid, which is probably why you don’t remember me.”

“And … they can’t do anything about it?”

“Not really.”

Draco was appalled. While he had learned the hard way that not everything his father said was true, part of Draco still believed that a rich pureblood could overcome almost anything. The Malfoy’s weren’t even in prison, for fuck’s sake.

“But–”

He was still digesting this news when Potter, Granger, Weasley, and Ginny burst into the room.

“Tori!” Granger exclaimed, and went to hug her. “Are you okay?”

“What are you doing here?” Ron asked Draco.

“He’s my boyfriend,” Astoria said sounding muffled but pleased from behind Granger’s hug. Draco belatedly remembered they work together.

“What are you doing here?” Draco snapped back. “I feel certain heroes of the wizarding world or not, people are still entitled to a bit of privacy.”

Ron opened his mouth to reply, but his sister cut him off.

“I wanted to make sure she was okay,” said Ginny, “and so did Hermione when she found out. Harry’s been assigned to the case, and Ron, well,” she added, smirking a little. “Who knows.”

Draco raised a triumphant eyebrow at Weasley.

“I guess I’ll see myself out,” Ron said to the others, purposely facing away from Draco. Ginny, having apparently seen for herself that Astoria was all right, left with her brother. Granger gently squeezed Astoria’s shoulder and followed the others out.

“Case?” Draco asked, catching up.

Potter looked sorry, but his voice sounded sure. “We’re trying to find out who did this,” he said.

Draco watched how he wouldn’t quite meet Draco’s eyes. “Am I a suspect?” he asked.

“Not to me,” said Potter after a beat.

“Why, because I was dancing when it happened?” Draco drawled.

“A Slytherin would have a room full of alibies if it were them,” Potter pointed out.

Draco sneered. “Yes, and they’d make sure not a single person was hit in the explosion,” he returned. “Honestly, you’d think a Hufflepuff did this. Have you asked all of them yet?”

Potter had a strange expression, but he seemed to tuck it back where it came from and straightened up. “I’m here to ask Ms. Greengrass some questions right now,” he said.

“Absolutely not,” said Draco.

Astoria let out a surprised sound that might have been a cough, but probably wasn’t.

“I just mean,” Draco went on, aware that he was now speaking for someone perfectly capable of speaking for herself. He turned to Astoria. “You’ve been through a lot. Would you like to rest now?”

Astoria grinned at him. “You’re the most ridiculous boyfriend ever,” she said. “I think I’ll keep you. But really, pet, if answering Mister Potter’s questions means the Aurors will leave you alone…”

“It doesn’t look good that he’s your boyfriend,” Potter said quietly. “You were the only person to get hurt, even if your healers say your unconsciousness was unrelated. It will look like you were targeted.”

It was a little hot when Potter spoke Auror, Draco wasn’t going to lie.

“And what of the floating letters?” Astoria answered, sounding intelligent and cold. Draco thought it must be a pureblood thing. “They clearly said that Draco was the intended target.”

“I know,” said Potter. "Can you think of anyone who might want to hurt you?"

"No," snapped Astoria.

“Wait, why do you care what it looks like?” Draco asked.

Potter glanced up at him. “Because I _do_ think you were the intended target, but if the only person who got hurt was your girlfriend, it’s going to look like you did it. At least in public opinion, even if you won’t be charged for it.”

Draco folded his arms. “So?”

Potter shot him a look of bewilderment. “Do you _want_ more bad publicity?”

“Did my _mother_ put you up to this?”

“What? No, Malfoy, don’t be crazy.”

“ _You’re_ the one being crazy–”

Potter had stopped with the professionalism, which Draco hadn’t seriously expected to last more than a shining minute knowing Potter’s temper, but he was a little dismayed at how quickly they’d fallen back into Hogwarts.

Astoria cut in. “Draco, love, I’m getting tired. Would you be good enough to draw the curtains before you leave?”

Draco blinked at Potter and immediately turned to Astoria. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?” he asked, unsure what her condition really entailed.

She smiled at him. “Just tired,” she said. “I’ll owl you tomorrow.”

“All right,” said Draco, unsure of how to end things with Potter still standing there. He stepped towards Astoria, lifted her hand, and brought it to his lips. “Thank you for the dance,” he said honestly.

“Good night, Draco,” she said, a trace of her grin back.

Unfortunately, Potter’s friends were still in the waiting room along with Narcissa and Camille.

“Harry, how is she?” Granger asked.

Potter looked uncomfortable, apparently having remembered he was an Auror again. “You know I can’t talk about–”

“What business is it of yours?” Camille snapped.

Granger’s eyes went wide. “I’m sorry,” she said, turning to Camille and offering her hand, “I’m Hermione Granger, Mrs. Greengrass, I work with Astoria at–”

“I’m perfectly aware of who you are,” said Camille, her lip curling at Granger’s outstretched hand. Granger, seeing this, snatched it back. “It’s unfortunate enough that my daughter seems to want employment working with Muggles without them actually turning up at a hospital to see her.”

Draco’s jaw dropped. Potter went tense beside him.

“ _Hermione’s a witch_ ,” Ron snarled before anyone else could react.

“Ron,” said Granger, “it’s–”

“A witch,” said Camille, rolling the word over her tongue like it confused her. “I’m afraid I–”

“Actually yes!” Granger shouted over the argument. Everyone looked at her. She smiled politely at Camille and leaned in just a little. “ _Be_ afraid,” she said.

Outrage bloomed on Camille’s face. “How d–”

“Camille,” said Narcissa, stepping forward and catching the other woman’s elbow. “You don’t need to argue with teenagers. Why not come back to mine for tea and we’ll check on Astoria later?”

Camille raised her nose at Granger, but nodded to Narcissa.

“Draco?” Narcissa asked.

“I’ll be home in another minute,” he told her.

Narcissa gently steered Camille back to the lifts and Draco knew what was coming even before Weasley said it.

“And what about you?” Ron snarled.

Draco was a little bit shaken, but he wasn’t quite as shocked since the war. A lot of things mattered less since the war. He hadn’t seriously believed someone would speak that way to war hero Hermione Granger, but he wasn’t going to fall all over her for Weasley’s benefit.

“What about me?” Draco snapped.

“Do you think Hermione’s a Muggle, too?” Ron demanded.

“As though my believing she’s a Muggle would stop her from becoming Minister for Magic by thirty,” said Draco. “Honestly, Weasley, did we not all go to school with her?” Draco didn’t wait for a reply before rounding on Potter who had that same strange expression. Draco took a second to realize Potter was trying not to laugh.

“A word, Potter?” Draco demanded.

They left Potter’s astonished friends in the lobby, although Granger looked a little like she wanted to laugh too.

They found someone’s unlocked office and closed the door behind them.

“What?” Potter asked, no longer looking amused. He just looked tired.

“Why are you trying to help me?” Draco demanded. “If it looks like I hurt Astoria…”

Potter shook his head. “It’s literally my job to help you, Malfoy,” he said.

“Isn’t it your job to investigate all the suspects?” Draco returned.

“If I thought you were a suspect,” Potter said, “but I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“ _Because I know you!_ ” Potter exploded.

Draco closed his mouth.

“God, Malfoy, I know you didn’t do it,” Potter said, “and you know you didn’t do it, and Astoria knows you didn’t do it. Why would I waste Ministry resources investigating someone without a motive, with a room full of alibies, and a history of not wanting to see people hurt.”

Draco closed his eyes. Potter was right, and Draco suddenly didn’t want to talk about this a moment longer.

“Why are you fighting me on this?” Potter asked.

Draco opened his eyes and looked at Potter. “I hate it when you save me,” he said, not without bitterness.

Potter frowned. “That’s what this is about? You took us back to Hogwarts bickering because I pulled you out of a fire?”

Draco looked at the ceiling. “Maybe,” he said.

“Can we not go back there?” Potter asked.

Draco looked at Potter now. It was a small office, but Draco crossed it slowly. He noted the way Potter watched him.

Draco stood just in front of Potter and bit his lip, losing his nerve just a little. Potter’s eyes were unreadable, but that didn’t mean that Draco didn’t know him too. Slowly, Draco reached up and ran his fingers through Potter’s hair. “Not even for the braiding?” he murmured.

Potter breathed a laugh and raised a hand to still Draco’s hand. “Maybe for the braiding,” he whispered, his fingers ghosting over Draco’s

Draco came to a decision. He stepped back. “You’re right Potter,” he said, all business. Potter seemed surprised, but he didn’t react. “Certain things from Hogwarts need to go, but let’s be reasonable. We should make sure we’re not cutting anything important.”

Potter nodded. “Yeah, I’ve lost the metaphor. Are we still talking about–”

“Quidditch,” Draco said. “You and me. The manor has grounds enough to hide a thousand snitches. I bet you’ve never played in the wild.”

“I bet you’ve never even said the words ‘in the wild’ before now,” Potter returned.

“Please,” Draco said, watching Potter relax a little bit more. “I know you have certain views of rich people and how they live, but I can assure you that not all the stereotypes are true.”

Potter raised an eyebrow, his smile almost there.

“Some of us don’t even marry our cousins anymore,” Draco informed him loftily.

That did it. It startled out a peel of laughter from Potter, lighting up his eyes. Draco felt absurdly proud. Self-deprecating jokes felt strange in his mouth, but it was all kinds of worth it to see Potter’s grin.

“That’s disappointing, I have to admit,” Potter said, still smiling.

“You have some weird kinks, Potter,” Draco informed him, smiling back. He didn’t know when the disaster of the evening disappeared from Draco’s mind. Somewhere between Potter’s fingers and smiling green eyes.

Suddenly Draco realized that he’d being going about it all wrong. While so much of his life seemed to be about getting Potter to react, Draco had been so, so wrong in going about it. Draco wanted to chase that smile for as long as he could, capture it and bottle it and _keep_ it–”

A knock at the door brought them both back to the present. “Harry?” called a voice, and Draco cursed Ron Weasley to the depths of hell.

Potter’s smile had faded, but he nodded at Draco. “Quidditch,” he agreed. “Owl me.”

The door opened and Ron’s suspicious face peered in at them. Draco smiled sweetly, complete with batting eyes.

“Are you ready to leave, Harry?” Ron asked, ignoring Draco.

“Yeah,” said Potter, but then he threw a grin over his shoulder at Draco and Draco could forgive Weasley just about anything in that moment. “Night Malfoy,” Potter said.

“Night,’ said Draco to Potter’s retreating back. Potter took the sunlight of his smile with him when he left. Draco sat back on the desk in the office and let out a breath. He hadn’t quite let himself believe it before, but there it was: he was in so much trouble.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story is Cursed Child compliant, more or less.

Actually Scorpius Malfoy and Albus Potter were quite intelligent. One of them even got to grow up around Hermione Granger. Scorpius was at the top of their class in Charms.

Albus took the time turner Scorpius held out and sighed heavily. The gold caught the light and sparkled. “We shouldn’t do it,” said Albus.

“I know,” Scorpius agreed.

“We’re going to do it, aren’t we?”

“How could we not?”

Albus made a face, but didn’t comment. The time turner was what got them into trouble in the first place. Now that everything had been put back together – Delphini was in prison, and no one in his family was getting unmade again – another trip through time would be the stupidest decision in their long line of stupid decisions.

“Just to _look_ ,” Albus insisted.

Scorpius grinned. “What could possibly–”

Albus sprang forward and clasped his hand over Scorpius’s mouth. They fell to the floor laughing. “Don’t you dare,” said Albus.

“Come on,” said Scorpius, poking Albus's denim-covered knee. “Get dressed properly. We can't go looking like this.”


	8. Chapter Eight

Astoria and Camille came by the manor two days later. Narcissa had already told Draco he was to show Astoria around the grounds if she was feeling well enough, so that’s where they were – walking through the gardens, taking in the fresh air and determinedly ignoring the embarrassing presence of the peacocks that Lucius still insisted on keeping.

“I think that one winked at me,” Astoria said, making a face.

“It’s just a bird,” Draco said, examining the cloudless sky.

“No, Draco, I think they’re sentient,” Astoria said, looking around at the birds scattered too much at random around the walkway to actually be at random.

“Technically all animals–”

“Draco.”

Draco looked down at her. Her blue eyes weren’t taking any of his shit today.

“They’re creepy,” she said firmly. “And frankly, they can’t help your family’s reputation at all.”

“Peacocks don’t make people evil,” Draco muttered.

“I meant the reputation for being crazy purebloods out of touch with reality.”

Draco forced his lips into something of a smile. “I think the word you’re looking for is eccentric,” he said.

“Don’t go mansplaining crazy to me, crazypants,” she said, cracking a smile. “You’re the one with eleven doilies in his entryway.”

“The fact that you counted says more about you than it does about me,” he returned. “And don’t let Granger make up words. God.”

Astoria snorted. “It’s a good word,” she said. “It deserves to catch on. And you’re changing the subject. If we are to be wed, then the peacocks have to–”

“Wed?” Draco countered, leading them away from the gardens and towards the moors. “My lady, we have only just begun our courtship.”

Astoria grinned. “Still, something to think about if you want me for the long-term.”

“I’m gay,” said Draco suddenly. He’d never said those words before, but there it was. It was almost impossible to look back on his memories of Potter in school without wincing about how hideously obvious he’d been. Hadn’t he even thrown a public fit about a valentine Potter had gotten? It pained him to remember.

Now a wonderful woman stood in front of him, clearly interested in spending time with him, even if it was for a bizarre reason. She was funny and beautiful and could think on her feet. Even her dislike of the peacocks should have sold her to him. He didn’t owe her his truth, but he might have owed it to himself to say it, if only once.

Astoria’s eyes widened. “Is that why you want to do this?” she asked.

Draco nodded.

“Your parents don’t approve?” 

Draco made a face. “I haven’t told them,” he said, “but I have no intention to.”

Astoria frowned. “Surely your mother would understand,” she said. “Everyone knows what she did at the battle for you.”

Draco kicked at the long grass in front of him. “Maybe,” he said. They’d reached the moors – the wild. It never seemed as bright out past the manicured lawns and gleaming statues and neat water bowls of the manor grounds. Somehow it always seemed like a storm was brewing here. There still wasn’t a cloud in the sky, but the wind had dropped, like it did just before it returned with force.

He’d sent Potter an owl that morning asking him about Quidditch, but he hadn’t heard back yet. Maybe he wouldn’t.

“Why are you doing this?” Draco asked, hoping to get Potter off his mind for a moment. “You could have anyone in the world, and you want to pretend to be with me?”

Astoria opened and closed her mouth for a moment. She looked out over the moors. “I can’t have the person I want to be with,” she said.

“Why not?” Draco asked.

Astoria gave him a small smile and shrugged as if to say she’d given up. “Because she’s straight,” she said simply.

Draco choked. “You’re–” he said.

“’Fraid so,” she said.

“God, it’s not Granger, is it?” he asked.

Astoria’s smile vanished.

Draco had been joking, but he always did have the worst luck. “Oh God.”

“You know her a little,” Astoria said, no longer looking at Draco. “I’m not wrong, am I?”

Draco took a moment to figure out what she was asking. Not wrong about Granger being straight. He remembered an international Quidditch star in her past, but mostly he remembered…

“Even if she goes both ways, I doubt she’d look at anyone who wasn’t Ronald Weasley,” Draco said honestly.

Astoria nodded, still looking out at the horizon. “Stupid Gryffindors,” she said. “Are they all going to live happily ever after with their school crush?”

Draco thought about Ginny Weasley, strong and shining and _perfect_. 

“Probably,” Draco muttered.

Astoria breathed a laugh. “Well,” she said, straightening. “Their loss.” She looked like she at least wanted to believe it. “So now that we both have the same pathetic reason for doing this, why don’t we go tell our mothers we’re willing to give it a try so they’ll leave us alone for a bit?”

Draco nodded. “All right,” he said.

They walked back to the manor in comfortable silence, Astoria even taking Draco’s offered arm when they got closer to the windows.

“So is there a hopeless crush in your life?” Astoria asked lightly, side-stepping a peacock with a face.

“Well,” said Draco.

“It’s not Ron Weasley, is it?”

Draco tripped.

Astoria let out a bright peel of laughter. “You can tell me,” she said. “All that fighting in school must have inspired–”

“If you stop talking right now you can negotiate any pre-nup you want,” Draco begged her.

Astoria grinned. “Fine. Who is it, then?”

“Blaise Zabini,” Draco said promptly.

“Huh,” said Astoria, as Draco held the door for her. “At least you didn’t fall for someone straight.”

“No,” Draco agreed, “I didn’t do that.”

*

Narcissa and Camille were pleased when Draco and Astoria agreed to their ridiculous matchmaking. They had to endure another hour of small talk with their parents, which left Draco wondering even more about Camille’s mental state. She spoke openly about her feelings towards the Muggleborn. Draco wasn’t naïve enough to think that those attitudes had died with Voldemort, but he certainly didn’t think anyone was stupid enough to say them out loud, especially in Hermione Granger’s company. Even Narcissa Malfoy in the privacy of her own home would only murmur vague platitudes when Camille went off, despite holding the same views Draco knew she’d had all her life – obviously not wanting to kill them, but in no way wanting to associate with them either. She never took a Dark Mark, but if Voldemort had reigned it back just enough to run for office, Draco knew he would have had Narcissa’s vote.

It was funny how after his whole life of hating Muggles and the Muggleborn that Draco finally looked at his parents’ beliefs with incredulity. What was there to hate, really? If someone like Hermione Granger could bring academics at a thousand year old school to new heights and someone like Aunt Bella bring nothing but unhinged and theatrical violence to schoolchildren… what did anyone’s blood matter? Blood didn’t make you _better_ than anyone. Blood only made you connected to horrible people like Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy and paranoid that there might just be something _less_ about your family.

Draco and Astoria agreed to dinner in Diagon Alley the following week to keep up appearances. It was a little depressing, going on dates with a woman, but he did genuinely like Astoria. She had a sharp wit and kept Draco on his toes, even if she did sometimes faint in high stress situations.

“I’m happy for us, Draco,” said Narcissa as she closed the door behind Camille and Astoria.

“Mmm,” Draco agreed, still feeling a little weird about the whole thing, but he wanted his mother to be happy, he did. “She’s nice,” he added.

Narcissa put her cool hand to Draco’s cheek. She was always tall in Draco’s mind, but she’d been shorter than him for several years now, and Draco was always just a bit surprised.

“I know you have ideas about love,” Narcissa told her son gently, “and I know arrangements like this can be hard. But they can also be the real thing, too. No one is going to force you to do anything. Just – try looking for it with her. I want you to be happy.”

Draco closed his eyes. “I know, Mum,” he said, his throat feeling just a little thick.

“And –” said Narcissa, “happiness can come in many forms. Sometimes mere companionship can be a wonderful thing.”

Draco nodded like this was in any way encouraging. Here he was, nineteen years old, and being told that he probably shouldn’t aim for a real relationship – that settling for something easy wouldn’t rot his soul to its core.

After Narcissa left him struggling for breath in the entrance hall, Draco did something he hadn’t done in a long time.

He hadn’t really thought too much about it, because if he did, his feet were going to stop in their tracks. Instead he pushed himself up the staircase in the north wing, all the way to the fourth floor.

Outside the door, he hesitated.

But somehow – probably because of wards, Draco figured – Lucius found him anyway.

“Draco,” Lucius said, surprised.

Draco glared at his father, wretched behind the door. His parents had a room two stories down, but Draco knew Lucius hadn’t slept there in months. He didn’t deserve to slip back into his life as though nothing had happened.

“I – nothing,” Draco said, turning to go.

“Draco, please,” said Lucius.

“Please, what?” Draco snapped, hating himself for the way his footsteps faltered.

“Please let me make it up to you,” Lucius said, his voice hanging in the air between them.

Draco wanted it, he desperately did. He’d give anything to go back to the time when he’d savor the bit of time Lucius would grant him in his vast study on the first floor. When his father would look up from teaching Draco some theory or spell and offer his praise, as though Draco had truly accomplished something special. Looking back, he hated how pathetic that was, but that didn’t stop him from resenting those moments being taken away – from resenting his _father_ being taken away.

“How?” Draco demanded. “By buying the Slytherin team new gloves this year? Sorry, Father, I don’t think this one can be fixed the same way you used to do.”

“Then how?” Lucius asked, stepping just a little out from behind the door. Usually Lucius shrank away these days, not daring to have this conversation, taking his punishment because he must have known it was coming. Today he was more determined, just a little braver than usual. It made Draco nervous, and all the more furious because of it.

“I don’t know _how_. That’s for you to figure out. You’re the one who cause all this – the mutilation on my arm, the fact that I can’t finish my education, the fact that I’m dating someone I barely know – you’re the one who sold his soul to a madman.”

Lucius’s eyes dropped to Draco’s forearm, and even though it was covered, Draco wanted to snatch it back, out of his father’s sight.

“Draco,” Lucius began.

“I don’t want to hear it!”

Lucius stepped forward once, and then again. Draco stiffened as his father approached – flinched as Lucius placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder. Lucius flinched, too, at his reaction, and dropped his hand. It was the first physical contact they’d had in over a year.

“Come in, Draco,” Lucius said softly, stepping back and holding the door open, eyes pleading for Draco to agree.

Hating himself even more, Draco shuffled into the room. His father’s quarters were large – several rooms connected together. There was a small bed near the back of the room, and several desks covered in papers scattered throughout. There were empty plates edged on chairs, and clothes piled on the floor in the corner. A window let in the autumn air, but behind the breeze, Draco suspected the room smelled more than a little ripe.

“How do you live with yourself?” Draco whispered.

Lucius pushed a pile of books off a chair with his foot and sunk into it, probably rightly assuming Draco wouldn’t sit.

“Some days,” Lucius said, voice cracking again, “I can’t get out of bed.”

“Why, are you regretting trying to kill children?” Draco asked nastily.

Lucius looked startled as though he hadn’t considered this something to feel bad about. Draco rolled his eyes. Unbelievable.

“I regret the position I put you in, Draco,” Lucius said, taking a sip of God knows what out of a porcelain mug. “I thought that was obvious.”

Draco sometimes lay awake to the memories of Granger’s screams, of Ollivander’s screams, of Crabbe’s screams. But, no, his son’s social life was the real tragedy here.

“Well, don’t,” Draco snapped. “I’m fine.”

Lucius snorted, a sound Draco’d never heard from his father before. “And that’s why you’re here in this room right now?” Lucius asked softly. “No one comes to the fourth floor because they’re _fine_ ,” he said.

“Maybe,” Draco said, not quite sure what he was agreeing to. He was a little bit caught up with simply being in his father’s presence. If he just let himself pretend…

“Is it the Greengrass girl?” Lucius asked.

“What?”

“The one your mother wants for you?”

“You’re saying you had no part in her choosing?” Draco asked.

Lucius waved the mug a little too casually. “If it were up to me, you’d be betrothed to Minerva McGonagall. _There’s_ a connection we could really use.”

Draco bit his lip to keep from smiling, but behind his vague indifference, Lucius was watching Draco carefully. Draco cast his eyes to the ceiling for help, but if he smiled, he smiled. What was so wrong with that?

“I’ll think about it,” Draco said, forcing his face to behave. The joke sounded too familiar, too friendly, but it was too late to take it back now. And really, with the way his father’s eyes lit up, Draco didn’t have the heart to try. He could never land the killing blow.

“Draco, wait,” said Lucius, seeing Draco turn to go.

“No,” Draco said. He paused. He paused and hated it. “Just … not yet,” he said.

The next morning, Lucius was at breakfast early. Draco hesitated as he walked to the table. He could see his father was better dressed than he’d been in the last few weeks. When he looked up and pretended to see Draco – as though he hadn’t noticed the second Draco’s footsteps faltered in the doorway – he offered a faint smile and poured tea into the cup at Draco’s place setting.

Narcissa watched the tea with a slight frown on her face.

Draco suddenly didn’t want the tea, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to turn it into _something_. He picked up the tea cup, seeing Lucius brighten out of the corner of his eye. Draco put a buttered croissant and a sprig of grapes on a plate and addressed his mother. “I’m going to eat in my room,” he said.

Narcissa gave him a long look, but eventually shrugged, because what really did anything matter.

Draco didn’t look at his father on the way out.

In his room there was an owl waiting with a letter from Yasir and a copy of the _Daily Prophet_. Still no reply from Potter. To make matters worse, this was the third day in the row Draco’s name was in the paper regarding the attack at the Rosiers’ party. That Percy Weasley had strong connections with the Order of the Phoenix was referenced, as was Draco’s family connections.

At least the main photo was no longer of the damage or Dark Mark. Today Draco was lucky enough to see the smiling faces of Potter and Ginny Weasley as they made fools of themselves on the dance floor. The headline: **Has the Chosen One Chosen?** Draco turned the paper face down on the bed.

The letter from Yasir was short – _Draco, I’m sorry about this. You know I can’t decide the news. I had to call in a favour to get them to put Harry’s picture instead of yours today. Hopefully your article falls to the wayside in the face of Harry Potter finding true love. Don’t let them get to you. Let your secret boyfriend cheer you up. – YM_

Merlin. Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. With friends like these, who needs enemies?

Distantly, he knew Yasir had done him a favour. He scribbled a quick note of appreciation and headed to the owlery near the side of the manor to send it off. He had just sent it off on an old black owl when the image of Potter and Ginny became unbearable.

He lifted his wand and summoned the parchment and quill he’d been using upstairs.

_Potter,_ he wrote, _Come today, you coward. – Draco_

He sent that one off too.

Then he went for a run, because he didn’t want to sit at home and pray that Potter deigned to reply. His run went a little longer than usual, and it felt good to not be sitting in the manor. The wind had picked up the feel of yesterday’s storm warning, and the skies refused to let the sun through. Still, it wasn’t too cold, even for late October.

Draco was stepping out of the shower when Potter’s owl came.

_Big words for a Slytherin. I’ll come by this afternoon._

Grinning, Draco got dressed and went to pull out his Quidditch gear. “This afternoon” wasn’t too specific, so Draco was surprised to receive an incoming Floo call at noon sharp.

Without thinking, because Potter always made him a damn fool, Draco lifted the wards and a figure in scarlet robes came spinning into the living room.

“Draco, are you expecting someone?” Narcissa called from the other room.

But Draco was watching the witch straighten up. She was tall, severe, maybe in her forties. She adjusted her Auror-issue robes and pulled out a badge of identification.

“Draco Malfoy?” she asked.

Bollocks.

“Yes.”

“I’m Auror Alessandra Moretti,” she said. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”


	9. Chapter Nine

By the time the entire Malfoy family had gathered – Narcissa shooting Draco a disbelieving look, as if Draco didn’t know what an idiot he’d been already – Moretti’s partner had joined her. Now the three Malfoys sat on a long sofa together as the Aurors paced in front of them.

“And what is your relationship with the Astoria Greengrass?” Moretti asked, barely glancing up from her notebook.

“She’s my girlfriend,” Draco said through clenched teeth.

“Astoria’s mother is a close friend of mine,” Narcissa added in her too-polite voice, “our families are quite close. They came for tea shortly after Astoria was released from the hospital.”

“And how long have you two been together?” asked Moretti, utterly ignoring Narcissa. Draco heard Narcissa’s teeth come together in a strained smile.

“Since the party at the Rosiers’,” Draco said. This would be news to Narcissa, but Merlin knew his mother wouldn’t react in front of Aurors.

“Who asked who out?” asked Alicia Spinnet, who Draco only remembered from having thoroughly kicked his arse at Quidditch a million years ago.

“She asked me out,” Draco said.

“Convenient,” Spinnet murmured.

Draco forced another smile. Moretti didn’t seem to have heard Spinnet’s comment either.

“And you were okay with a woman asking you out?” Spinnet added. “Perhaps you thought it wasn’t her place to do so?”

Draco shot an accusing look at Moretti, who seemed to be the reasonable one – _the good cop_ , said a voice in the back of his mind – and Draco cursed his stupidity. “I didn’t think that, no,” said Draco.

“No, you weren’t okay with her asking you out?” asked Spinnet.

“No!” Draco said, raising his voice despite his earlier resolution not to.

“No, what, Mister Malfoy,” Spinnet drawled. “I’m afraid you’re coming across a little contradictory.”

Draco felt the heat of shame rising up in his chest. He was letting himself be played by the Aurors and he didn’t even know how to stop it.

A sharp crack announced the arrival of their house elf, and she said the most beautiful words Draco could ever have hoped to hear: “Harry Potter is at the front door.”

Draco could have cried with relief, but before he could say anything Lucius’s voice came out quickly.

“Let him in, Welly,” said Lucius, never one to miss an opportunity.

Potter strode into the room looking windswept in a faded Muggle t-shirt like he’d flown over despite the car keys he was slipping into his jean pockets. Potter took one look around the room, and Draco saw the click in Potter’s eyes a second before his face settled into a bemused smile.

“Hey Sandra, Alicia,” he said. “Everything all right?”

Alicia looked badly startled, but Moretti was either competent enough at Auror games or she actually wasn’t playing one, and she nodded coolly Potter.

“Are you here professionally?” Moretti asked him.

“No,” said Potter slanting a grin at Draco that everyone saw, “Draco and I were going to play Quidditch this afternoon. I can wait until you’re done here.” And with that, he settled into the row of Malfoys on the sofa next to Draco looking as relaxed as he might in his own home. When he saw everyone’s attention still on him, Potter let out a slight chuckle. “Sorry, don’t mind me,” he said.

“Um, right,” said Spinnet. “So…”

“So the night at the Rosiers’ party,” Moretti continued in her even tones, “did you see anything suspicious?”

“Suspicious?” asked Draco.

“Is this not my case?” Potter asked politely.

The Aurors looked rattled then, even Moretti. Spinnet looked nervously at Moretti who had the good sense not to look back.

“This is your weekend, Potter,” she said. “Robards gave it to us in the meantime. You can ask him if you’d like.”

Potter threw up his hands. “I believe you,” he assured her. “Just wondering. Did you read my notes about not suspecting Draco?”

“I did,” returned Moretti, “and respectfully, I disagree with your assessment.”

Potter shrugged like that was fair and leaned back in the couch.

Alicia Spinnet could no longer conceal her outrage. Draco gave himself credit for outlasting her. “You can’t honestly think they’re innocent,” she demanded of Potter.

“Sure I can,” he said.

“Draco Malfoy?” Spinnet demanded. “The one you hated all through school?”

Draco didn’t think the reminder was necessary, and glared at her meanly, having no other course of action.

Potter shrugged again and directed his answer to Draco. “I didn’t hate him all of sixth year,” he said, badly containing a grin.

“What, after you tried to kill me?” Draco snapped.

“Well. Yeah.”

Oh. Draco stared at Potter in shock. Then he turned to the Aurors. “I think that was a confession,” he said, barely concealing a smirk himself.

“Oh, shove it,” said Potter. “It was a light maiming.”

“You see?” Draco demanded.

The Aurors seemed increasingly at a loss, so Spinnet pulled out what Draco assumed was her ace. “And what about him,” she said, gesturing to Lucius. Potter’s grin slid off his face. “Do you think he’s innocent too?”

Lucius had the sense not to meet Potter’s eyes.

“Him?” Potter asked. His voice came out rasping like he’d barely escaped drowning. He looked like he wanted to spout all of Lucius’s crimes, condemn him to hell and follow him there. Potter’s gaze took in Lucius from his absurdly polished boots to his greying-but-you-can’t-tell hair. “No,” Potter whispered. “I don’t think he’s innocent.”

A heavy moment hung in the air like a sickness. 

“But did you see him at the party?” Moretti – bless her – asked in the silence.

Potter hadn’t looked away from Lucius. Lucius finally looked back, wary. The moment stretched on another unbearable second until Potter’s eyes met Draco’s instead.

“No,” said Potter, just as quietly.

“He didn’t attend,” Narcissa said promptly. “I’d be willing to testify to that under Veritaserum.”

Lucius did look up then, surprise filling his eyes. Draco realized then he hadn’t given much thought to his parents’ relationship since the war, but he knew things weren’t all right there. That Lucius was surprised to hear his wife defend him told Draco that things had been much worse than he’d let himself realize.

“There’s no need for that, Missus Malfoy,” Moretti said. “Only Draco Malfoy is a suspect here.”

“How wonderful,” Draco murmured.

Potter snorted, some of his amusement obviously having returned.

“I think we’re done for today,” said Moretti with a sharp look at her partner. “We’ll be in touch,” she added, looking at Draco.

The Aurors readied themselves to leave. Spinnet drew a handful of Floo powder from her robes. Shooting Potter an incredulous look before she left – Potter returned the look – she stepped into the fireplace and vanished in a whirl of bright green. Moretti did the same.

“Harry,” said Narcissa immediately, “thank you.”

Potter bounced to his feet. “For what?” he asked, shooting a tight smile at Narcissa.

Narcissa smiled back. “Come, Lucius, I believe we’re interrupting a Quidditch match.”

Draco’s parents practically dissolved out the room. Draco stared up helplessly at Potter who wouldn’t quite look back.

“Walk me to my car?” Potter asked, examining a painting on the far wall. “I left the broom in the boot.”

“The … boot of your car?” asked Draco.

Potter’s eyes swung back to his, and he huffed a short laugh. “Er, yeah,” he said, a hint of a smile creeping onto his face. “I’ll show you.”

Potter’s car did indeed have his broom in its boot, though it was more like a large pocket in the back of the car than a boot. Draco would never understand Muggles. He tugged his jumper a little closer to his body in the wind that had picked up.

“And … what is this again?” Draco asked, pointing to the little flap that had popped open at Draco’s hip before Potter hit the right button on his Keefob. If Draco had yelped a little, well, it’s not like Potter had warned him.

Potter’s lips were pressed together tightly, but he still managed to answer the question. “It’s for the gas. You have to put combustible liquid in the car for it to burn. Otherwise it won’t work.”

“That’s barbaric,” Draco said flatly, then wondered if Potter would take offence. But Potter’s eyes were a little distant, taking in the thick cloud cover. “And yes, it startled me, all right?”

“So did the boot opening.”

“It was surprising!”

Potter finally allowed his grin to take over even though the sun still hadn’t come out.

“Malfoy,” he said, and hesitated, the clouds appearing in his eyes again.

“Spit it out, Potter,” Draco snapped.

“Are you and Astoria…?” he let the question ask itself.

Draco blinked. “Actually no, if you must know,” he said carefully. “We have an arrangement so that our parents don’t. Well. They’re eager for us to get on with our lives, if you know what I mean. That doesn’t mean I don’t very much care for Astoria, though.”

“No, that’s not what I –” Potter exhaled in frustration.

“What is it?” Draco asked, softer.

Potter met his eyes, then his gaze dropped to Draco’s body. He walked them backwards until Draco’s arse hit the car. Potter crowded into him, which was very much all right with Draco.

Potter reached up to Draco’s collar. “I just wanted to –” he said, pulling at the material. His fingers shook a little as they began to unbutton Draco’s shirt.

Whatever it was Potter wanted to do was fine, perfect, really, as far as Draco was concerned. His eyes flitted up to the manor over Potter’s shoulder and ascertained they were far enough away, but Potter’s fingers were ghosting over his chest, and Draco might not have cared either way.

Then Potter touched what he was looking for.

“Potter,” Draco hissed.

“Does it hurt?” Potter asked. He ran his fingers down the thin white scars that covered his torso from his left shoulder to his right hip.

“No,” Draco said, and caught Potter’s hands, forcing Potter away. “What are you doing?”

Potter didn’t look away from his handywork. “I’m sorry I joked about it inside,” he said. “I was only–”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Potter, I understood what you were doing,” Draco said, annoyed that this wasn’t in fact going the direction he’d hoped. Potter still seemed hesitant.

“Can I?” Potter asked.

Draco’s heart raced as he realized that actually maybe it was. He nodded.

Potter brought his lips down to his shoulder and kissed soft slow kisses across Draco’s chest. Draco was instantly rock hard, which would have been embarrassing if he wasn’t so, so happy.

“Malfoy?” Potter whispered against his skin.

Draco’s hands clutched at Potter’s hair, his clothes, keeping him close. “It’s Draco,” he breathed.

“Draco,” Potter corrected. “I’m _sorry_.”

Draco’s eyes flew open as Potter dropped to his knees.

Potter looked up and offered a small smile before returning to his path down Draco’s torso. His nose bumped against Draco’s stomach as he kissed him and kissed him. Draco tried to be gentle, to stroke Potter’s hair or something to show him without speaking, but Draco was shaking too badly.

“It’s all right,” Potter murmured against Draco’s hip.

But Potter was on his knees in front of Draco, and Draco had never even let himself imagine what this might be like, and Potter kept murmuring beautiful words against Draco’s skin and Draco was going to–

Potter’s fingers curled under the waistband of Draco’s trousers. He let his breath flit across Draco’s skin there in a terrible tease.

“Can I?” Potter asked, looking up from beneath his tangles of hair.

The eye contact was almost too much for Draco, and he was literally about to come in his trousers without being touched at all there, and Draco still had to say the words.

“No,” he said, voice going up at the end like a question.

Potter blinked his ridiculously green eyes. “Really?” he asked, rocking back on his heels. He cleared his throat and said in a much different voice: “All right.”

Draco’s legs were about to give out. “No,” he tried, “I just meant.” He exhaled in frustration. “I’m not going to let you – because you feel bad about … defending yourself.”

Potter stood up slowly. Draco watched him in agony.

“I just meant that I attacked you first,” Draco said. “If anything, I owe _you_ the–”

“Mal – Draco,” Potter interrupted quickly. “This is absolutely not about what we owe each other. You know that, right? I’m not here to settle any debts.”

“Then why are you here?” Draco asked, unable to help himself.

Potter grinned. “To play Quidditch,” he said.

Draco let out a shaky breath. “Is that what they’re calling it now?”

Potter’s grin widened.

“Come back,” Draco said, and caught Potter’s hand. Potter slid into him easily. Draco spoke with a confidence he absolutely did not have. “Kiss me.”

Potter leaned in and pressed his lips to Draco’s. The kiss was agonizingly slow. Potter’s hands came up to pull Draco’s hips closer, and Draco’s cock pushed against Potter’s, equally hard. Potter slipped his tongue into Draco’s mouth, slow and sure. He kissed like they had all day, even while thunder sounded in the distance.

Draco’s fingers curled into Potter’s hair and tugged his head back. Potter responded with a low moan that lit up Draco’s veins like fire. He kissed along Potter’s jaw to his ear.

“Blow me,” he whispered.

Potter laughed. “Changed your mind?” he asked.

“You heard me, Potter,” Draco insisted, embarrassment warring with arousal and losing. He couldn’t believe he was saying these words, but it seemed to be working for Potter, who was now rubbing himself slowly against Draco’s crotch. Draco felt powerful in a way he’d never known before. Potter wanted him, wanted to touch him, kiss him. _Potter._

“God,” Potter breathed, pulling away. His pupils were dark with want.

Draco watched uncomprehending as Potter fumbled in his pocket for the little car device again, and heard the doors unlock with a dull click. Potter reached around Draco and pulled open the back door. Then he grinned at Draco and began opening the front of Draco’s trousers.

The thrill of Potter undressing him was the single best moment of Draco’s life, immediately outdone the next moment when Potter’s hand wrapped around his cock. Draco made an embarrassing noise, and only just managed not to come.

“Here,” said Potter, “sit.”

Draco let Potter guide him half into the car. He started to bring his legs into the vehicle, but Potter stopped him. “No.”

Draco looked up at Potter, who was still smiling a little. “Trust me,” Potter said, and knelt on the ground again. Potter’s hands pulled down Draco’s pants and trousers to his thighs. “Lie back,” Potter instructed.

In another lifetime, Draco would have objected to taking commands like a dog, but this Draco only quickly complied. He leaned back on the dark leather seats on his elbows and watched helplessly as Potter slowly stroked up and down Draco’s weeping cock.

“Potter, please,” Draco said before he realized he was now begging for it.

Potter seemed to like it, because he smiled and leaned forward, tantalizingly slowly.

The heat of Potter’s mouth slipped over Draco’s cock, and Draco’s head dropped back with a groan. “Oh my God,” he said.

“Like that?” Potter asked, removing his mouth for only a second before going down once more and taking more of Draco’s cock into his mouth.

Spending a huge amount of energy, Draco managed to lift his head so he didn’t miss the mind-blowing sight of Potter bobbing up and down in Draco’s lap. The sight was so breathtaking that Draco got slightly caught up in the sight and the pressing urge to come was mercifully pushed a little farther back.

“God, Potter,” he whispered, fanning his fingers through Potter’s hair.

Potter glanced up over his glasses at Draco and Draco’s orgasm was fast approaching once again.

“Wait,” said Potter, reaching up to touch Draco’s lips.

Draco pressed a kiss to Potter’s fingers, and suddenly Draco discovered a kink he didn’t even know he had when Potter pushed a finger into Draco’s mouth.

Moaning at the sudden intimacy of it, Draco closed his eyes and sucked Potter’s fingers, drinking in Potter’s encouragements of “Yeah, just like that.” It was unexpected and filthy and exactly right.

Potter moved in closer and removed his fingers, replacing them instantly with his mouth. Draco met him in an open-mouthed kiss, tongues moving urgently against each other.

“Can I finger you?” Potter panted through the kiss.

“Yes,” said Draco, not actually knowing what he was agreeing to.

Potter slid back down and took Draco’s cock in hand and guided it back into his mouth. With his other hand, he reached around and – _oh_.

“Potter,” Draco gasped.

“Is that okay?” Potter asked, mouth barely leaving Draco’s cock.

Potter’s finger had frozen at Draco’s entrance. Draco had never been touched there – had never imagined being touched there – but it was Potter and Draco wanted everything from him. He wanted Potter to consume him, to burn until there was nothing left.

“Do it,” Draco said, his voice unrecognizable.

Potter pushed in, and Draco let out a yell. It felt _sogoodsogood_. Draco made himself watch, made himself take in the sight of Harry Potter sucking his cock, fingering him to completion, making him fall apart under his touch. It was too much.

“Please,” Draco moaned, and came hard. His whole body shuddered with the force of it, his arms giving out. He fell back onto the seat of Potter’s car and felt himself clenching around Potter’s finger, shooting into his mouth. It would have been embarrassing if it wasn’t so brilliant.

“You’re incredible,” Draco said instead of “Marry me,” which was the more logical thing to say to someone who was that skilled.

“It took you that long to realize it?” Potter murmured.

No, was the answer that hit Draco in the face. He’d known Potter was incredible for – what? Weeks? No, it was probably longer than that, Draco realized with growing alarm. Probably a lot longer. Oh god, just how long had he wanted Potter?

“You’d been hiding it well until just now,” Draco said loftily, trying to push his other thoughts aside.

“I thought maybe when I defeated Voldemort…” Potter suggested.

“No,” Draco informed him. “I’m pretty sure I’m the only person who knows that you _accidentally_ became master of the Elder Wand. Honestly, Potter. Only you would go crashing into battle without a weapon.”

“I did kind of have love,” Potter pointed out.

“Everyone’s mother loves them, Potter,” said Draco with a dismissive wave of his hand. “But …” A new thought occurred to Draco. “That’s why you’re here, right? Because everyone loves you now and you’re sick of it.”

Potter shrugged. He’d pulled out of Draco at some point, and Draco could have wept from the loss.

“That’s why you asked me that first day,” Draco pushed, pulling his clothes back on. “You want a break from people worshipping you.”

“Maybe,” Potter said, standing. When Draco reached for Potter’s zip, Potter gently took Draco’s hands away. “I’m going to go,” he said.

Everything in Draco’s body screamed for Potter to stay. Aloud Draco said “Come back tomorrow night. My parents retire long before ten, usually. I’ll return the favour.”

“Maybe,” Potter said again, throwing Draco into full panic mode. He was partly convinced that this was the last time he was ever going to see Potter, and the thought made him ill.

“You’ll come,” Draco insisted, getting out of the car and stepping in close to Potter. “You’ll _come_ ,” he repeated, pressing a kiss to Potter’s jaw.

Potter melted, just a little, his body pressing into Draco, still obviously hard. “All right,” Potter said. “Tomorrow.”

Draco grinned. “Don’t worry,” he said, feeling his throat grow thick with joy or relief or something else entirely, “ _I’ll_ never love you.”


End file.
